Into the Light
by ImpalaLove
Summary: Set directly after Season 8. Sam's POV. "That voice, that same voice again. It seems so broken and desperate and I want to cry because I know that voice, I know it, but I can't place it and my skull is pounding and it seems like my bones have solidified just in time to crack apart again, slow and wrenching and agonizing."
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: Set directly after Season 8. Sam's POV. **_**"That voice, that same voice again. It seems so broken and desperate and I want to cry because I know that voice, I **_**know**_** it, but I can't place it and my skull is pounding and it seems like my bones have solidified just in time to crack apart again, slow and wrenching and agonizing." **_

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything **

**Warning: Rated for language.**

* * *

Into The Light

"Angels...they're falling."

Bright. Everything is too bright.

I shut my eyes against the blinding flashes of light, against the pain. It feels like my body has suddenly decided to rip itself apart. I'm crippled from the inside out, my brittle bones shattering against my skin and everything's fading and nothing's making sense and all I know is that I can't take much more of this unendurable agony.

It's too bright. I just want to sleep...

"_SAMMY? Sammy stay with me dammit."_

That voice. I know that voice. The name that goes with that voice is right there, on the edge of my subconscious, and I know it's important but it's taking so much effort just to keep breathing and I can't focus and everything is so _bright. _

"_Sam, please. Please!" _

I know something's wrong. That voice is somehow finding its way through my tangled broken brain, it's pounding its way in past the incessant ringing in my ears and I wish I knew what it wanted. I wish I knew why everything is so fucked up and why I can't seem to find my eyelids. God it's so hard to breathe and suddenly I'm moving, shifting, and I know it's not me who's doing it because my bones are liquid and my head is exploding and it's still so _bright _and I can't close my eyes because they're already closed and so I let the light take me instead even as the screaming in my head gets louder...

* * *

I'm in Hell. I'm dead and I'm back in Hell and it's the worst pain I've ever known. I want to scream but they've jammed something down my throat and I'm choking, gasping for air as I writhe inside a prison I've never wanted to revisit.

"_SAMMY? Oh God Sammy just relax man. Relax Sammy let it breathe for you."_

That voice, that same voice again. It seems so broken and desperate and I want to cry because I know that voice, I _know_ it, but I can't place it and my skull is pounding and it seems like my bones have solidified just in time to crack apart again, slow and wrenching and agonizing.

I'm twisting and jerking frantically where I lay, trying to escape this unbearable pain. I'm trying to focus, trying to find the right muscles but all I can see is the backs of my eyelids and all I can hear is that same familiar voice in my head. Everything hurts. I feel a strange sort of tingling that seems to spread from the inside of my arm and then suddenly, just as quickly as the agony began, I can feel it start to dull. I'm drifting now, floating. I've stopped flailing and I can finally feel the cushion of the mattress that's been beneath me this entire time. My weary muscles are all relaxing simultaneously, sagging heavily into the soft material.

And then there's a slight, warm pressure on my hand and something soft brushes against my forehead and maybe this isn't Hell after all because there is something comforting about that touch. It's so familiar and soothing and _Dean. _

_Dean. My brother._

All at once, the pieces of my fragmented mind are slowly making their way back to me. I'm remembering the church and Crowley and Abaddon. I'm remembering my brother's reassuring smile.

"_We will figure it out. Just like we always do." _

I remember exactly one split second of pure, uninterrupted relief as I let go of the burden I'd been carrying for so long now, and then, abruptly, an endless sea of agony that swallowed me whole and sent me to my knees.

And I remember the angels...

Falling?

Was that a dream? It couldn't be real...

I'm still grasping for the details, trying to keep the facts in order, but something has seeped into my thoughts and clouded them beyond recognition. My body feels heavier and yet lighter at the same time and I am slowly sinking back into that undiluted feeling of relief. The haze is so calming and welcoming and a small part of me wants to fight against it and try to figure out exactly where I am, what the fuck's going on, but another part of me that wants sleep overrules it. I need this sweet, uninterrupted rest. I've needed it for a long time now. Hell, maybe this is what I've needed for my entire life. And so I let myself sink completely into the warmth of oblivion.

* * *

This time the pain is muted. I can hear the steady and all too familiar bleep of a heart monitor as I ease slowly back into consciousness. The pounding in my head is still there, but it's subdued, and the agony that had plagued my body has faded to a dull ache. Cautiously, I open my heavy eyes, and immediately I find my brother.

Dean is slumped in the chair beside me, head lolling to the side. His face seems drawn and ragged, even in sleep, and I wonder how long I've been here; how many sleepless nights I've put him through. It's obvious to me from my countless visits that I'm in a hospital, but I shift slightly on the bed, trying to get a clear confirmation.

I might as well have screamed at the top of my lungs.

One slight movement from me is all it takes. Dean is wide awake, the chair screeching across the linoleum as he pushes himself out of it, stumbling towards the bed.

"Sam?"

That one word is dripping with pain and anguish and relief and I know it had to have been bad, especially when he moves to take my hand, his eyes catching my every movement.

"God Sammy, you scared me for a minute there," he laughs shakily, running a hand through his hair and across his face, trying to hide the tears that threaten to slip past.

"S'ry," I croak. I sound awful. It feels like my vocal cords have been dragged across a cheese grater and my tongue has been turned to cotton. I lick my lips, about to ask for water, but Dean already has the ice chips in hand, practically forcing them down my throat before I can even try to get the words out.

We sit together in silence for a while after I wake up. Dean is beside me on the bed, trying hard not to stare at me for too long, but his eyes keep flickering to my face every few seconds as if to reassure himself that I'm still here. I'm trying to ignore his lingering gaze, instead focusing on collecting my thoughts enough to start asking questions, but at this point I'm not sure if I'll want the answers. After a few more moments, I break the unbearable silence with one of the most pressing situations, one that I know will have a huge effect on my brother.

"Cas?"

It's just one word, but the moment Dean hears it, he seems to fold in on himself. His shoulders tighten, the muscles rippling across his back as he turns away from me for the first time since I've woken up.

"I can't...I don't know where he is, Sammy. He won't answer my prayers, he won't...he's just...gone," Dean pauses, his eyes tracing the patterns on the floor, as though he's waiting for the angel to manifest himself within the tiles. "Look I'm sure he's...he's fine. Let's just worry about you right now, okay? Let's just...get you better." His tone scares me. He's too quiet, too careful with the words he chooses. But I continue with the inquiries on my long list of "what the hell is going on".

"Yeah, that was my next question," I cough. "What's wrong with me? I mean I feel better than I did obviously, but that could just be the drugs. When can I leave?"

Dean has turned away from he again, not meeting my eyes. He is silent for a long time, and when he speaks again, I wish for the silence once more. The pain in his voice is almost tangible. "Sammy...they don't know what's wrong. You're organs aren't...I mean everything's kind of shutting down...you're not...it's not..." Dean draws in a ragged breath and finally turns to face me. "Sammy I can't lose you. _Please_."

That last word breaks me. My brother never begs, never asks for anything. I reach across the bed, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, but he still refuses to let them fall.

"It'll be okay," I say, knowing that the words are meaningless.

And suddenly I'm struck with how _not_ okay this entire situation is. We had been _so close. _So close to closing the gates of Hell. _Forever_. I had been about to rid the world of the demons that had ruined our lives and taken countless others. It had all, quite literally, been in _my_ hands- and once again, I had failed. I had allowed myself to walk away from saving the lives of thousands of innocent people, all for the sake of my brother. All so that we could continue to fight this never ending war _together_. And now I was dying anyway.

The guilt was crushing, and suddenly I was drowning in it. My death could've _meant _something. Could've meant _everything_. My sacrifice could've finally brought peace to this dark, dismal, shit show of a world we lived in. I could've saved everyone. Could've saved Dean.

Dean, who had sacrificed so much, given everything to keep me safe. And I couldn't repay the favor, because it was _him_ who was asking me to walk away. God I should've died. Should've shoved my own purified blood into Crowley's waiting mouth and given Dean the life he had never known but always deserved. Sure, he would've grieved for me. But then he would've been able to move on. To live in a world where monsters under the bed were just stories and nightmares could fade to nothing, could be erased with a flick of a light switch. I could've given him that. And instead all I gave him was his little brother. A sick, dying little brother with no fight left and a world still shrouded in darkness.

I had been so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't immediately notice when Dean finally gives in and lets the first of his tears fall until I hear his sharp intake of breath, followed by a cracked sob. He had shifted to face away from me again, but his hand is still holding mine, and I squeeze it once more, feeling my own tears begin to form.

"Dean I...Dean you should've just let me die," I whisper. The words slip out before I can stop them, and Dean's reaction is instantaneous. He leaps off the bed, wiping violently at the few tears he had let slip past and whirls to stare at me, incredulous.

"Fuck no, Sam. That was _never_ an option. I said we would figure this out. So we will." Dean's jaw is set, his hands shaking with something close to rage as he begins to pace the room. The transition from despair to determination is so sudden it leaves me reeling, trying to find some kind of response. But Dean beats me to it, his words dripping venom.

"You're gonna be fine. You'll make it." He turns to me, as if daring me to disagree. "You're going to live Sammy." The words are said with such conviction that I find myself believing him. Especially when his eyes meet mine, and I see a spark of something deadly behind those green irises. And suddenly I'm afraid of what he might do, of the lengths he might to go to save my life. _Again_.

"Dean don't..." But he's got his jacket on before I can finish my sentence, fumbling for the car keys and striding towards the door.

"DEAN!" I scream. But the door slams shut and I'm left alone, unable to fully lift my head off the pillow, much less follow after him. I try anyway, reaching clumsily for the IV in my arm, but a nurse chooses that exact moment to come rushing in, probably summoned by the slam of the door. She's at my side in an instant, pushing my hands firmly, away from the needle and injecting what I assume is a sedative, even as I continue to scream my brother's name. My struggles waver as the drug takes effect, and I am plunged into darkness once more.

* * *

I don't let myself float in this calming space between sleep and wakefulness. It's so peaceful and inviting, but I know I can't stay here. I know something horrible is about to happen, if it hasn't already. I shove frantically against the fogginess, trying to push past the drug induced sleep. Finally, I break the surface, squinting against the rays of sunlight that slice across the room and make the dust dance in circles above my head.

"Dean?" I cry out, twisting beneath the scratchy sheets, trying to find my brother. I catch sight of him a moment later, staring at me from across the room, arms folded across his chest.

"Calm down drama queen, I'm right here," he smirks, moving almost lazily to stand beside my bed. His words only make me panic more.

_Oh God. _

"_WHAT DID YOU DO? DEAN, WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO? " _I'm screaming and I can feel the tears coming again but I don't care because my brother has just done something unforgivable. I can feel it in my bones and I can see it in the passive way he walks and in the soft smile he gives me as he tries to reach for my arm. I jerk away, not feeling the slightest bit guilty at the hurt expression on his face.

"Tell me what you did. Did you make another deal?" I've managed to lower my voice to a deadly whisper that I hope will be more intimidating somehow, and I'm holding his gaze, willing him to undo it all.

"Sammy, give me some credit. I didn't make a deal, I'm not that stupid," he replies, still smiling slightly, still trying to make this into a fucking joke.

"Then what? I know you didn't just walk out of here like that to grab a goddamn snack. Tell me what happened. Now." Dean rolls his eyes, clearly trying to keep up the act, but when he sees my expression, his face softens.

"I swear Sam, I didn't do anything. I mean yeah, I thought about it. You would've thought about it too." He raises his eyebrows, as if waiting for me to protest, before continuing. "But in the end...I don't know. I couldn't do that to you. Not again."

I nod slowly. I know my brother well enough to know when he's telling the truth. But I also know that there's no way he would be this relaxed if my body was still shutting down on itself.

"So then why are you so calm today? I'm still dying, aren't I?" The words come out more harsh than I meant them too, and I berate myself when Dean flinches. But he recovers quickly.

"The doctor ran a few more follow up tests while you were out. He expected the same results, but it seems like your body is starting to recover on its own somehow," Dean pauses when he sees my disbelieving look and crinkles his nose at me.

"Hey, don't ask me how geekboy, I'm not the one with the college education. All I know is that last night they were basically saying you were a gonner, and today...well, damn it Sammy, today is a fucking miracle." Dean's eyes are shining again, but I know this time it's not from grief, just like I know he won't dare to let these tears fall.

I'm still wildly suspicious. I'd have to be crazy not to be. There are so many unanswered questions. Like how on earth am I still breathing? I mean how is this possible? How can I, Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, have so many goddamn second chances? How can I once again be recovering from something that should've killed me? The only silver lining is that at least this time I know Dean's soul is safe, and even though I don't have anything else, for the moment, that one fact is enough.

Dean is still looking at me with those too bright eyes, trying to gage my reaction, trying to see if I trust what he's told me. I struggle into a sitting position, surprised and pleased at how much easier it is to move today.

"Okay," I say, meeting his wary eyes, "Then I guess we've got work to do."

**I'm thinking of doing Dean's POV as well, so please leave me a comment if you'd like to see that. I'm also thinking of expanding this story- I've got an idea in my head that I might just run with. **

**Thanks for your time, hope you enjoyed it! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So this chapter is fairly short and not very action packed, but I promise the good stuff is coming. Just had to explain some stuff in order to build up to all the unavoidable DRAMA. Dun dun dun. =)**

We start with what we know. It's a short but overwhelming list.

"Alright. So...fallen angels. What the hell does that mean?" Dean asks, as if I'll know the answer.

"Uh...heaven on Earth?" I mutter sarcastically. Dean rolls his eyes, huffs out a short laugh, and goes back to pacing the small space of my hospital room. As far as the doctors can tell, I'm a miracle patient. Actually, as far as Dean and I can tell, they're right.

My body is slowly but surely healing itself, rebuilding from the ground up after the destruction left by the hurricane that was the trials. It's way past too good to be true, and I know it. I'm surprised and unsettled and frankly, a little terrified at how easily Dean has come to accept this latest phenomenon. It's not like we've ever had a stroke of luck, and Dean is usually the first to question anything that tips the balance even slightly in our favor. I'd almost expected him to be scouring the ends of the earth for answers by now, despite the shitload of other problems on our plate, but instead he seems content to just leave the issue alone.

My curiosity is not so easily derailed. I've questioned Dean several more times since our initial conversation, but he still insists that he hasn't made a deal, hasn't once again sold his soul for me. I think I believe him. I think I know my big brother well enough to rule out a deal with the devil. But if not that, then what? God, how I want to believe that this truly _is _a miracle, supernatural or otherwise, but I can't shake this feeling, can't seem to undo the ever present knot in my stomach that grows more tangled and convoluted each day...

"Sam, have you never heard of multi-tasking? Seriously man, you can brainstorm and eat your soup at the same time. It's getting cold." I push away the dark thoughts to find Dean shoving a spoon in my face, looking aggravated. I shake my head at him, not liking the look of what I assume are supposed to be carrots floating on the surface of the bowl in front of me.

"Not hungry," I say, attempting to push the spoon away. I'm about to push the tray of food away too, but Dean's expression shifts from only slightly irritated to just plain dangerous, so instead I find myself snagging the spoon from his hand with an audible sigh. And he calls me overbearing? Hypocrite.

"Dean seriously, this looks disgusting. Don't they have anything else?" I say, scratching the spoon along the bottom of the bowl and twirling it through the lukewarm liquid.

"Don't be such a pussy. Eat up. You've gotta get your strength back," Dean shoots back. There's a strange edge to his voice that I can't place. It doesn't quite fit with what is meant to be light banter, but I can't put my finger on what it means. I shrug off the thought just as quickly as it came and start shoveling the disgusting soup into my mouth. We've both got a lot on our minds right now. We're in deep, and there's still been no sign of our usual savior in this type of situation.

Cas is completely MIA. Dean's been making calls, driving back and forth to all the places nearby that Cas could possibly be. And still nothing. Well, nothing except Crowley that is.

The church where I had almost completed the third trial was one of the first places that Dean went to search out Cas, but he had been completely unprepared to instead find the King of Hell still chained to the chair where we had left him. After I had filled Dean in on the whole Abaddon situation, we had both just assumed that she had come back for him after finding the next available meatsuit. Instead, Dean had slipped silently through the large doors of the chapel only to find the enormous chair now tipped on its side with Crowley still tied down, looking battered and bloody, but otherwise alive and breathing. He was currently being held in our bunker's "dungeon", carefully watched by an extremely resistant Kevin. Kevin had been far from pleased to see the demon again, to say the least. Dean hadn't given me the details of that first encounter, and I assumed that's because the majority of the young prophet's anger would've been directed at me. Kevin had run himself into the ground translating the trials, only to find that all his work, all his sacrifice, had been for nothing. Because I had failed.

I inhale deeply, pushing the now empty bowl of soup away. Dean raises his eyebrows at me, but makes no further comment, for which I'm grateful. I'm not about to unload all my guilt onto him. He already burdens himself enough without me adding to it. Watching him now, I can almost see the literal weight on his shoulders as he moves to the window and peers out into the darkening sky. I'm sure by this point he's managed to twist everything that's happened into somehow being his responsibility. Just like he always does. I'm almost tempted to laugh. Everything's changed so much over the years, but in so many ways, things are still exactly the same.

My brother is still a self depreciating martyr. I'm still a fuck up who can't stop finding new ways to bring about the end of the world. And we are both still completely and utterly screwed.

**Thanks for reading! I'll update as soon as I can!**


	3. Chapter 3

"Easy Sammy, nice and easy." Dean is guiding me through the door of the bunker, a steady hand at my back, waiting to catch me if I waver for more than half a step.

"Dean, chill out. I'm fine. Seriously," I shoot back, shrugging off his help. I roll my eyes and easily make my way towards the enormous table that sits in what can only be described as our dining room. It's still a foreign concept to me- having a dining room; having a home. A place of comfort to come back to after a far too lengthy stay in the hospital. I smile a little to myself, settling into the chair closest to my laptop and firing it up.

Dean watches me for a moment and gives an approving nod, seemingly convinced that I'm not going into cardiac arrest anytime soon, before shuffling off towards the kitchen.

"I'm making lunch," he calls over his shoulder, "What do you feel like having?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. "Dean, we ate like two hours ago. I'm not hungry, man."

I hear the muffled clanging of pots and pans, followed by a short beat of silence, and then Dean charges back into the room, eyes wide, the words flowing a little too quickly.

"Sam, you've got to eat. You've got to get your strength back. We need you back on board here, I can't do this all on my own..." he pleads, and then seems to catch his breath, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth ever so slightly. "So what do you want to eat? If you don't answer, I'm making spaghetti."

I groan and throw a plastic coaster in his direction, missing by inches. The hospital I had been staying in seemed to have only one dinner option- spaghetti. I'd been forced to eat it for the past few weeks. Just the thought of it made me nauseous at this point, and Dean knows it. And _I_ know he wouldn't be above making me eat more of it if I don't answer his question. "Anything but spaghetti. Can you make me a sandwich or something? Whatever you made that one time when..."

"You got it, Sammy," he replies before I can finish, his signature grin now completely back in place as he strides purposefully back into the kitchen. I don't have much time to process the sudden shift in mood before the clanging resumes.

"But Dean..."

"No Sam. No." His words ring with big brother authority. I hate it when he uses that on me. It's been almost a week since the angels fell and Dean is still unbearably cautious with me. He's convinced I'm going to fall to pieces, so I've been confined to my bed while the world around us is thrust into chaos. At the moment though, I'm pacing the length of the kitchen in frustration.

"Dean, this is the best lead we've had so far. This could really be it. I need to come with you..."

"Sam, he isn't the enemy. This isn't going to come to a fight. If Cas is really..." he breathe hitches on the name and he averts his eyes from my face, trying to collect himself. "Look. If Cas is alive, I need to find him. And I can't be worrying about you the whole time. You're still a long way from one hundred percent. Please, Sam. It may already be too late for Cas. I can't lose you too. Please."

He's begging, pleading, and it kills me. Especially since he knows exactly what he's doing. He'll win this argument. He won it the moment his eyes started to glisten with unshed tears. And I know he's right. I'm still weak, weaker than I'd like to admit. The tired ache hasn't yet left my bones, but I know I'm getting better. I just need time. Time we don't have.

"Fine," I say after a long silence. "Fine."

I make my way back to our dining room and start to power up my laptop, mostly because there's nothing else to do. Dean nods and suddenly becomes a flurry of movement. Within the hour, he's ready to move out to the newest lead, a small town just north of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The familiarity of that particular town still elicits a gnawing in the pit of my stomach. Bobby's death is still so fresh in my mind, especially after finding out that he'd spent the past year rotting in Hell. I watch Dean as he mulls about the room, mentally checking items off his list, making sure I have all the things I need so I don't keel over in the few days he'll be gone. Finally, he picks up his duffel, shuffling towards the door. He hesitates on the threshold, waiting to speak until I glance up from my computer.

"Look," he grunts, "I left you a whole week's worth of food and it better be gone by the time I get back." I roll my eyes and start in with a retort about mother hens, but Dean's expression has shifted and it stops me. He's suddenly rigid. Lethal. The glare is so intense that I have the strong urge to glance behind me and make sure a wendigo hasn't materialized out of thin air. Jeez. Apparently Dean's obsession with food has expanded to include my consumption as well. Kind of ridiculous, but I know my brother won't leave until I give some kind of acknowledgement, so I nod.

"Sure Dean, I'll eat. Be safe and call if you need me."

And he's out the door.

* * *

**My goodness I'm not moving very quickly on this one, sorry about that! Next chapter will have more action plus an appearance by a fan favorite. Pretty sure you can guess who. Should be updated again fairly soon. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Dean's POV. (Just so you know, I don't ship Dean/Cas, so the bond I'm trying to express is friendship/brotherly love. However, you are free to interpret it however you like.)**

* * *

Damn it feels good to be on the road again. Even without my brother next to me, the hum of the Impala is still home, and I drink in every pothole on the painted asphalt stretched in front of me. I don't let myself think about where I'm going or what I may or may not find when I get there. It's better to just drive, not let all these traitorous thoughts cloud my already weary mind. _Don't thinkDon't thinkDon't think. _

My silent mantra doesn't work. Not much else to do on a long drive besides think.

Dammit.

* * *

I've worked myself up quite a bit by the time I hit South Dakota. And not long after, I pass by the familiar wooden sign, swinging on its hinges. "Welcome to Sioux Falls" it screams at me. For a fleeting moment, I feel the tug of a smile on my lips. "Finally. My god, it's been too long since I've been by the garage," I think. "Wonder what Bobby's been up to anyway..."

And then I remember.

My chest constricts and it takes all my concentration to stay on the road. _Shit_. Yep. Still hurts. Bobby's death hasn't gotten any easier to accept, even knowing now that at least he's where he should be. He was all that me and Sam had left, and his death has torn at the gaping hole in my chest, still raw and barely stitched back together from all the losses we've suffered over the years. I breathe deeply, trying to push past the enormous lump that has lodged its way into my throat. A few more breaths, and I've managed to shove the ever present grief back down into the deepest pits of my mind, focusing on the road stretched out before me.

And that's when I see him.

Of all the places he could be. Of all the roads he could be walking alongside at this very moment. It's got to be one of the most colossal coincidences I've ever experienced, yet I know without a doubt that it's _him._ Even without the signature trench coat, I recognize the subtlety of his gait as he trudges wearily along the side of the road, directly in front of me. I can see his posture stiffen as I ease the Impala onto the shoulder, and I know he's heard the familiar roar of the engine slowing to a stop. I shift into park and practically leap from the car, a smile already plastered on my face. _Cas is alive._ I allow myself one moment of sheer relief, and then I'm practically sprinting towards him. He's stopped walking at this point, and I know he knows I've found him. Which is why I'm shocked when he finally turns to look at me.

My steps falter.

It's not relief I see in his expression. It's not joy. He's looking at me the way a dog looks at his master after its been kicked. He's looking at me like a terrified child, a broken soldier. I know that look well. I've seen it in the mirror countless times. Spent hours trying to wipe that damn look off my face, trying to cover it with some witty retort or sarcastic smirk. Seeing that same look on Cas's face now brings me up short. I stop only a few feet in front of him and then hesitate.

"Cas...?"

I take another step. The sorrow in his eyes seems to intensify when he hears his name and it's almost too much. One more step and I grab him in a tight embrace, taking most of his weight as he seems to collapse into me.

"Dean." My name barely whispers past his lips, but that one word is enough to get me moving, practically carrying him back to the Impala. It scares me how easy it is to drag him along beside me. _Has he lost weight? Can angels even _lose_ weight? _

We reach the car and I quickly settle him into the passenger seat, sliding back behind the wheel. Jeez he looks awful. He's got a beard almost as shaggy and long as it was in Purgatory, and his usually vibrant blue eyes have dulled to a murky gray.

"Shit Cas, what happened to you?" I ask as I flip the car around on the mostly deserted road, heading back to the bunker. I know I should call to update Sam, but I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment. Cas is still staring at me with those damn eyes, like he's waiting for me to start throwing punches or something.

"Cas, come on man, you're scaring me. Talk to me," I plead. He still won't look at me. I let another long moment pass and then open my mouth to try again, but finally he speaks, his voice low and gravelly, as though he hasn't used it in days.

"I...Dean...I'm so sorry." The apology is laden with regret, and his voice hitches as the words continue to tumble out. "I let you down. I let you all down. Metatron...he lied to me...I was...I was trying to...I thought..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa Cas. Slow down, okay?" I interrupt, "Just slow down. We can worry about all that crap later, just...tell me what you need right _now_. You look like shit. So...let's take care of that first."

He stares at me again, shocked. As though he doesn't deserve to be taken care of. As though he's lost the right. Again, I know the expression. It's one of my own.

"Dean..." he starts, "When Metatron...in order for Metatron to cast the angels out of heaven, in order for him to finish the process...he needed...he needed the grace of an angel. My grace."

It takes a second for the words to click into place, and when it hits, I can't seem to respond. And it seems I don't have to, because Cas says the words for me.

"Dean...I'm human."

**Sorry for the delay! I've been having computer problems and just moved into my dorm for the year. Please review if you have time! Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update, my muse kind of abandoned me on this one! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Previously: **

"Dean..." he starts, "When Metatron...in order for Metatron to cast the angels out of heaven, in order for him to finish the process...he needed...he needed the grace of an angel. My grace."

It takes a second for the words to click into place, and when it hits, I can't seem to respond. And it seems I don't have to, because Cas says the words for me.

"Dean...I'm human."

**Now: Dean's POV**

I turn to look at the now sleeping form of the ang...the man in the passenger seat next to me. Cas is completely dead to the world, and I wonder how long it's been since he's felt safe enough to really sleep. After his initial reaction, and after a quick call to Sam, Cas spent the next hour or so explaining how he'd survived the past few weeks, and it was hard to hear. I know a little something about being hungry and homeless, but at least I've always had Sam. Cas had no one.

Thinking of Sam makes me anxious to get home and I step on the gas, watching as the trees on either side of the road fade to tall green blurs.

But then I remember the pit stop I need to make. _Shit_.

I pull onto the shoulder and exit the car, phone in hand.

"Kevin?" I ask when he picks up. "I need you to check the...yes, again. No, look I'm about an hour out from Lebanon so just find the closest one to...yeah."

I try not to let Kevin's exasperated questions deter me. I know I'm scaring him by not explaining exactly what I'm doing, but right now it's for the best.

"Look Kevin, I just...I can't explain this right now. I just need you to give me an answer. I need you to trust me." Another long pause while I wait. "You sure that's the closest...? Fine, fine...Alright, thanks Kev. Tell Sam me and Cas will be back soon. Yeah. Bye." Shit. I pocket my phone and head back to the car and its sleeping passenger. The rumble of the engine makes Cas shift in his sleep, but he doesn't wake as I turn the Impala in the opposite direction, heading to a small town a couple hours back. The only question now is where the hell do I stow Cas while I do what I have to? I know for a fact he wouldn't approve of this particular errand. Actually, he'd be furious. Livid. Doesn't matter though. Sam needs it.

* * *

It doesn't take long to reach the abandoned warehouse that Kevin directed me to. Why is it always a damn abandoned warehouse? I swear, no creativity. Cas has been dozing off and on, but he jolts awake when I shut the engine off.

"Cas, I need you to stay here for a minute," I say before he can speak.

"Dean I..."

"Cas. Stay. Here," I practically growl, wincing internally when Cas flinches. "Look, I got a call about a hunt," I say more softly, "It's an easy one, so I just need you to hang here for a bit."

The outright lie leaves a bitter taste on my tongue, but it doesn't matter, as long as Cas believes it. He seems to, starts to protest before I cut him off again.

"Cas you're human now, okay? You're not...indestructible anymore. I can't be worrying about you. Just let me do this. I'll be back before you know it."

Before Cas can respond, I'm sliding out of the Impala and shuffling towards the darkened building, feeling for the long silver blade hidden beneath my jacket.

The minute I crack open the slated door, I'm assailed with the smell of sewage and rotting flesh and I almost wretch at the long buried memories those particular odors dredge up. It takes me an extra second, but I finally swallow back the bile and slip inside the warehouse, already assessing my surroundings. My steps are slow and measured as I trail silently across the far wall, blade in hand. At first I don't see anything besides the unidentifiable stains on the floor and the occasional cluster of leftover machinery that looks like it would crumble under the slightest touch. The smell intensifies as I move further back into the warehouse, and I finally catch a glimpse of what I'm here for.

She's lying on her side facing away from me. Long brown hair cascades down her back and pools beneath her makeshift pillow. Looks like a sport coat or something. I slow my pace even more. No need to wake her. This can be quick, painless. She shifts slightly in her sleep, as if sensing my presence, and I tense, only a few feet away from her now. I'm about to take the final step, about to plunge my knife into her back when she rolls over with a start, lunging to her feet in one quick motion, catching me off guard.

"Winchester," she spits, and I barely have time to register the fact that she knows who I am before she's flung herself at me, sending us both to the ground, the silver knife clattering uselessly to the floor, out of reach.

I've barely registered the sudden change in position before she's on top of me, hands at my throat. Her small frame is misleading- she's strong as an ox, and she's using every ounce of that strength to steal my air, grip tightening mercilessly. I claw desperately at her hands, her face, anywhere I can reach, but she's not backing down. Dark spots start to blur my vision and I'm losing consciousness fast, wondering how the hell I'm supposed to get out of this one. The answer comes only a moment later in the form of angel turned human. I feel rather than see the blade as it slices through the girl's spinal cord and she shrieks in agony, back arching like she's been shocked with a live wire. I shield my eyes against the pure, white light that emanates from her still struggling body, twisting away as she lands beside me, mouth still open in a silent scream. Castiel stands above me, the angel blade still in his grasp, dripping blood. He's looking at me with a mixture of horror and disbelief and I know there's no way I'm coming up with an explanation for this.

Another moment later, and I know he knows. I know he's connected the dots, found the missing piece of the puzzle. I can tell by the way the shock turns to full on hatred in his eyes.

Slowly, I get to my feet, arms outstretched in a show of surrender, wary of the blade still held tightly in Cas's grip.

"Cas..." I start. But I don't know how to finish that sentence. Nothing I say will make a difference now. I try again anyway. "Cas, I..."

"You..." he interrupts. His eyes have shifted back to the prone form of the angel he just killed, and I'm grateful he's not looking at me. I'm not ready to meet his gaze. "You've been...killing angels?" It comes out as more of a sob than a question, because he already knows the answer. Already sees what's right in front of him.

"Cas, look, I'm doing this for Sam. He was dying and I needed...I needed...he's better now. He's so much better. He would've died without..."

"WITHOUT THE BLOOD OF AN ANGEL?" Cas screams, taking a step towards me. His face is pulled tight with pain, his eyes more empty and terrifying than I've ever seen them, and he's still holding the angel blade, advancing on me as I back away, matching his steps.

"Cas, please..." I beg, hands still held up in surrender, defeat. But Cas is beyond listening. My back hits the wall sooner than I had thought, and I'm left with no escape route. It's just like the crypt except this time I deserve it and I know that. I know I should let him kill me for what I've done, but if I die then there will be no one left to save Sam.

He needs more blood.

One more step and Cas and I are toe to toe, his gaze piercing and unforgiving. I brace myself for the first blow.

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**I'll try to update soon, thanks for sticking with me! HOLY CRAP SEASON 9 IS SO CLOSE. Anyways, reviews are welcomed and appreciated!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to those of you who reviewed without an account- I can't message you back, but your comments are appreciated!**

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**Cas POV**

I have lived for thousands of years. Thousands of millennia. An endless stretch of time that holds all my thoughts. All my memories. Yet in that almost unfathomable stretch of time, I have never once felt the way that I do right now.

Utterly terrified.

It took me approximately two days to finally come to the conclusion that I had, in fact, become human. The hunger pains in my stomach would've proved to be a clear sign after the first day, but at the time I thought them merely remnants from my previous injuries, perhaps acquired during my scuffle with Metatron. The memories of the fight come back slow and foggy, along with the rest of my memories from the time I have spent in Heaven. Already I feel that most of them have dulled, as if shadowed behind a thick curtain. I must focus especially hard to draw them out, and it frustrates me. Makes me feel as though I am losing my grip on who and what I am...was.

Those next few weeks after I had discovered what I had become were the worst of my existence. To be thrust into such an unforgiving world with nothing and no one to guide me proved almost impossible. The simplest things confounded me, made me want to just give up. But I never did.

I quickly learned that money would be my most valuable possession, and that, of course, I had none. So I had to learn to live without...to grovel. To steal. It pained me to do so, but survival was the only option. I had to survive, because I had to get back to Sam and Dean. I had to find a way to somehow restore order to the chaos that I had once again unleashed upon their world.

But then I began to think about exactly what that reunion would mean. And the more I thought about it, about seeing that unyielding disappointment, that betrayal in their eyes, the more I thought about giving in. It would be so much easier to simply cease to exist. To not feed or clothe or care for the now vulnerable human body that was my own. Sam and Dean would never forgive me for this latest and most colossal mistake, I knew that in my heart. So when I heard the unmistakable roar of the Impala behind me on that nameless street in South Dakota all those weeks later, I braced myself for the very worst. I braced myself for the condemnation that never came.

Instead, I found myself folded into the strong arms of the man who had been placed in my charge, the man I had come to care deeply for.

The man who had every right to smite me where I stood.

Instead, he provided me comfort. It was implausible. Impossible. But his gaze didn't falter and his voice didn't waver as he spoke, and I soon found myself seated beside him in the place where his brother usually resided, careening down the highway towards a home I had never had a hope of returning to.

And now I stand facing that same man, a dead angel at my feet and pure rage coursing through my veins, the angel blade practically pressed against his throat.

* * *

Dean is completely pressed against the wall behind him, and I have crowded the small space between us, staying locked like this for what seems a very long time. I'm finding it difficult to keep control of even the most basic of human instincts at the moment, heaving in short, violent gasps of air. I realize that this is a natural side effect to the anger that is currently consuming my mind. My emotions are now completely unhindered by my duty as an angel to remain objective, and the strength of them frightens me, makes me falter and accidentally slide the blade ever so slightly into the soft skin beneath Dean's throat. I watch as blood begins to pool around the small cut I've made. Dean's breath hitches.

"Cas, please..." he begs, just like he did all those months ago in the abandoned crypt when I had been under the influence of Naomi. But this time is different. He's not begging for his own life, he's begging for his brother's. I can practically feel the depth of his desperation, his need to get back to Sam, to save him using the blood of one of my sisters. But past the fear, past the desperation, another emotion makes itself known behind his eyes. I see resignation. Forgiveness. If I kill him in this moment, right where he stands, he won't hold it against me. He thinks he deserves it.

And maybe he does.

But if Dean Winchester deserves to die for killing an angel, then I too, should be obliterated. I deserve it a thousand times over. I deserve a never ending cycle of misery for the things I've done, the mess I've created, even if it has always been in the name of protecting the people I am meant to protect. And despite what I deserve, Dean has found it in his heart to forgive me, time and time again. To look past the mistakes I've made and still call me a friend, an ally. A brother.

Dean's squeezes his eyes shut as the blade shifts once more against his skin, but they fly open in surprise a moment later as it falls from my grasp and hits the cold floor with a resounding clatter.

"Let's go. Bring the girl," I say, keeping my eyes trained on the abandoned weapon, looking anywhere but at the fallen heap on the ground beside me. It pains me not to know the angel's name, but without my grace, that knowledge has been lost to me.

"Cas...?" Dean asks, disbelieving. He hasn't moved from his position on the wall, not even to wipe the blood that has dribbled down the collar of his shirt. I bring my gaze to his, letting the anger I still feel seep into my words.

"Dean. Now." Its a low, threatening command, and though he has no reason to fear me anymore, Dean immediately takes action, kneeling beside the body and gathering her small frame in his arms. His arms full, he flinches and stumbles back a few steps when I reach to pick up the discarded knife, flipping it easily in my hands. It is slightly comforting that although it seems that I have lost most everything else, I have not yet lost the ability to wield a weapon. Dean watches warily as I tuck the blade beneath my sweatshirt and begin walking to the door, not sparing a glance behind me. I know that if I look back at the man with the angel in his arms, I might not be able to stop myself from lashing out. I might not be able to restrain this unprecedented rage that is still roiling inside me, fighting to break free.

So I keep walking.

* * *

We're back on the endless stretch of road, heading for the bunker. The silence between us echoes throughout the interior of the Chevy Impala and seems to reverberate across the empty backseat. Dean's jaw is set. He won't look at me, hasn't once tried to catch my eye or so much as turned his head in my direction. Perhaps, like me, he doesn't know what to say. So the silence stretches on.

He finally breaks it, hours later.

"I'm sorry. I'm...Cas I'm so sorry," he chokes out, running a hand over his face. "You were gone and Sam was dying and this was the only way..." he pauses, finally turning to meet my gaze. "Look. I know nothing can make up for this, and I know you can't forgive me, but please...just please. It's Sammy. It's all for him..."

"I can't just let you go on killing my brothers and sisters Dean," I practically growl at him. "You understand I must stop you? You understand you cannot keep doing this? I may no longer be an angel, but I won't allow this to continue. One way or another, you _will_ stop." The threat is evident in my voice, and Dean shies away from it, swallowing hard.

"Look Cas, I know they're...family, but most of them are out to kill you anyway. You _do_ realize that? They blame you for falling and they want revenge. And you're running on empty. You've got no angel juice to take on a single demon, let alone an entire swarm of angels."

"That's my problem, Dean," I snap, and even as I respond, I know he's successfully rerouted our conversation.

I have known since the first week of being human that the angels want me dead. Moments after the completion of Metatron's spell, after I had somehow ended up on Earth, I had come across several angels that were severely injured from the fall. Even as I reached out, trying to assist them, they had lashed out at me, promising redemption. Looking back, I realize that if their injuries hadn't been so crippling, I'd probably be dead already. However, I also realize that their blame is entirely well placed. This_ is_ all my fault.

"Do not pretend that your murder spree was a way to ensure _my_ protection. Do not attempt to justify your actions in _my_ name," I spit at him, watching his face contort in pain.

"My actions can't _be_ justified, Cas, I know that," he whispers a second later. I can practically see the guilt radiating off of him but his voice grows stronger as he speaks. "But that doesn't mean I would take them back. Sam's alive and that's enough for me. Fuck, I'll spend another thousand years in Hell to ensure he stays that way. I just want to make sure you know where your angel buddies stand. Just so you can decide which team you want to play for this round." The accusation behind his words seems to cut across my stomach, causing me to curl in on myself, battling the sudden ache. I'm surprised at the speed at which his tone changes to one of concern.

"Cas, what's wrong?" he asks, automatically reaching to grab my arm but stopping halfway and rethinking, retracting it quickly.

It takes me another moment to understand what's happening, and then the words come haltingly. "It's nothing I...I'm just...hungry," I grimace. I've come to identify the distinct pains of hunger and thirst in these past few weeks. Memorized them, actually. It's peculiar to be so dependent on anything, and it's still sometimes a challenge to remember how very _human_ I am now. Sometimes I forget, and I know it's been a long time since I've eaten. To my surprise and utter chagrin, Dean laughs. Just one short huff of laughter, and then he quickly recovers himself, clearing his throat, back to business.

"Uh, alright, I'll stop off at the next gas station. Gotta fill the tank anyway. Just uh, just take it easy. We'll be there soon."

I nod, resting my head against the window, trying to block all thoughts from my mind. It proves a difficult task, but soon enough I catch sight of the sign promising fuel. Dean practically bounds from the car the moment it's in park, as if he can't stand the cramped space any longer, even though I know he's been on road trips for at least twice as long without rest. I watch, slightly fascinated, as he begins what I deem to be the overly complex process of getting gas. Dean's movements are practiced and steady, and I find myself envying his ability to survive so easily in this world, to always seem so sure of himself. I watch him stride towards the convenience market, not bothering to ask what I want to eat. I rest my head back against the seat and sigh deeply.

I strongly wish I hadn't been jostled awake in time for Dean to have to explain his supposed "hunt". I wish I had just stayed asleep. It would be nice to simply remain oblivious to the bleeding body in the trunk of the car. It would be so much easier to just pretend I didn't know the lengths Dean had gone to in order to save his brother. Though my anger is now contained, I will still hold true to my threat. Dean will not kill anymore angels as long as I am alive, no matter what grudge they may harbor against me.

The click of the gas nozzle startles me from my musings, and I turn to glance back at the convenience store, expecting Dean's return. Five minutes pass and I'm still waiting. Another five and I've become restless. And suddenly, I know something is very wrong. I grasp clumsily for the door handle, lumbering from the car in a tangle of uncoordinated limbs. I'm about to run towards the store when I remember one of the lessons the Winchesters had taught me in my brief stretch as a fellow hunter: "_Never go anywhere without a weapon." _

Luckily, Dean had left the keys in the ignition. I grab them, and quickly make my way to the trunk, fumbling with the lock. It pops open a moment later, and if I had anything in my stomach at the moment, it would've made an appearance. I had forgotten about the dead angel. Swallowing against the urge to be sick, I search for the weapons bag, remembering to grab a few random items from the second compartment hidden underneath. I then begin running for the convenience store, attempting to prepare myself for whatever could be happening inside.

But there is no way to prepare for this...

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**Sorry for the cliffhanger! This was a hard chapter for me- still not sure I completely captured Cas's voice as this was my first time writing him. I'd love to hear your opinions/reviews. I'm thinking of switching back to Dean's POV for the next part, but if you want more Cas let me know. More craziness to come!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Some of this is kind of inspired by the season 9 promo...Dean just looks like he gets his ass handed to him, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to beat up on him a little more. I might've overdosed on the sass a little bit, so I apologize in advance. **

**I want to thank you guys for all your lovely reviews and a special thanks to LilyBolt for all the amazing encouragement!**

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**Dean's POV ****  
**

There must be some kind of international "Fuck the Winchesters" campaign out there that is dedicated to making our lives hell. It's the only explanation for how horrible our luck is. All I have to do is stop off at a goddamn gas station and suddenly I'm cornered by about six friggin demons. Seriously?

I'm _so_ not in the mood. Especially after what happened with Cas. I really thought he was going to kill me back there in that warehouse. I really thought that would be it. And not because another angel forced him to do it. It would've been his choice this time, and his alone. And God knows I deserved it. I'm still not sure what stopped him, not sure if he won't change his mind, catch me off guard one day and drag a blade across my throat. I actually wouldn't be too surprised if he joined in on the "Beat the Shit out of Dean Winchester" show that's currently in full swing.

They were ready for me the second I walked in the door. No time to react, suddenly they're just rushing me. At least the first one's not so lucky. Years of training kick in, and he's got Ruby's knife in his chest before the other five mooks even have time for a second step in my direction. Unfortunately, they've still got the numbers.

Still, if I do say so myself, it's a hell of a fight.

I manage to take out two more demons, but not before they get a couple good shots in. One particular punch finds its mark in my gut, another to the cheek only seconds later. I manage to thrust my knife into the owner of those fists, but it sticks there, still impaled in his now writhing body as he falls to the floor. One of the three remaining demons takes this opportunity to ram me into one of the flimsier convenience store shelves, sending Slim Jims and Fritos flying as it topples over. I groan and toss some Cheetos in their general direction from my position on the floor. My head's a little fuzzy and some absurd part of my brain wonders if demons would even like Cheetos. _Shit, you're losing it Winchester. Come on, focus. _

I make a move to get up, but the demons are already dragging me to my feet, one on each arm. The third has shifted to stand in front of me, no doubt ready for his monologue.

"My god you guys just get uglier and uglier, don't you?" I smirk, showing bloody teeth.

He smiles wickedly and sends two quick punches right to the nose. _Fuck, that's definitely broken_. He throws in a few kidney shots for good measure and Jesus Christ this guy must be some kind of UFC fighter because I'm pretty sure he just ruptured my damn appendix. I'm too busy wheezing to notice that he's started in on the monologuing already.

_Dammit, I probably missed the best part where he talks about all the things he's planning on doing to me. Bummer._

I think he senses that I'm not fully tuned into what he's saying because he grabs my chin a second later, jerking my face within inches of his own.

"Where is he?" he spits menacingly.

I smile at him again and manage to groan out, "You're gonna have to be a bit more specific." He shakes me hard enough that my brain starts doing cartwheels in my skull and I almost lose my lunch.

"WHERE'S CROWLEY?" He screams, slapping me hard across the face. I cough, tasting nothing but iron in my mouth. It's a good thing I'm in a convenience store because I'm gonna need a soda when this is over.

"Never heard of him, sorry. Sounds like a douche-bag though."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Who knew? He starts in with more punches to the gut, and this time I can't hold back the blood and bile that forces its way up my throat, leaking down onto my chin. _Shit._ The edges of my vision are blurring and I know I won't stay conscious much longer. And then suddenly I catch movement out of the corner of my half-closed eye.

_No no no no no Cas, just walk away_, I scream at him in my head. I only see him for a second as he passes by the glass doors of the store, trying to find another way in, no doubt. _Dammit Cas._

I once told him that without his angel mojo he was basically just a baby in a trench coat. And now he doesn't even have the damn coat. I hadn't asked him about that yet, about where he got the drawstring hoodie and jeans, because I wasn't sure I wanted to know. He just seemed so broken. And now that same broken angel is gonna try to fight his way through three demons to try and save my worthless ass, possibly while he's unarmed. _Great. _

UFC demon is blabbering again and I'm finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the words that come between each punch. And then, out of nowhere, the punches have stopped and I've somehow made it back onto the floor, lying on my side, my face cushioned by a few dozen Hershey bars. It's been a while since I've had a nice bar of chocolate...

_Fuck Dean, focus. _

I struggle to keep my eyes open, only able to pick up on a few blurs of movement in front of me. I hope to God it's Cas who's winning because I'm not gonna be much help at the moment. My insides feel like jello and my face is basically just a big mass of blood and torn skin at this point. I'm still holding onto my last dregs of awareness when I sense that the fighting has finally stopped. Blinking hard, I squint at the blurred shape now kneeling before me.

"Dean?" it asks.

"Hiya Cas," I grin. Relief fills me, and I slump completely to the ground, finally giving in to the sweet pull of unconsciousness.

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**Thanks for reading, stay tuned and leave your comments!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi again! Here's the next chapter, thanks for sticking with me. Enjoy!**

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**Sam's POV**

I'm trying to time it out perfectly. I know Dean's only about an hour or so out, so I'm waiting until then to start eating. That way, the first thing he'll see when he gets back will be me hunkered down over a steaming plate of food. Yep, I know how to make my brother's day. And it's not like I haven't been eating anyway. Actually, quite the contrary.

I have no idea when or how it happened, but Dean has somehow managed to become a pretty phenomenal cook. I was a little hesitant about the tomato rice soup he left in the fridge at first, but after trying it, I found myself going back for seconds. And then thirds.

And I find that the more I eat, the better I feel. But it's not just the normal "I've eaten and now I'm not as tired" feeling. No, the difference for me is way more pronounced. It's like coming back from the dead (and I would know). Dean must have laced all my food with five hour energy or something because after a few days of eating three solid meals a day, I feel my strength coming back to me in waves. It's a small, beautiful miracle considering all the other crap that's going on out there, but I'll take it. It's nice to not feel so useless anymore, to feel like I can actually stand on my own two feet again.

And I guess that's not the only miracle anymore. According to Dean's somewhat frantic phone call a few days ago, Cas is alive. Completely devoid of angel power, but still, he's alive. And I'll take that too. I've learned not to be too picky when it comes to miracles.

I'm just reaching for the container of pulled pork sandwiches Dean slaved away over (seriously, when did we get tupperware?) when I hear the banging on the door. _What the hell, Dean? Did you lose the key or something? _

Reluctantly, I slam the fridge shut and make my way to the front door that's actually more like the door to a bank vault than anything else.

"Chill Dean, I'm coming," I shout as the pounding continues. _Impatient bastard probably thinks I managed to keel over dead while he was gone. _

I'm so busy thinking up a witty response for the sarcastic dig I just know Dean is waiting to dish out that when I finally open the door, the picture in front of me doesn't register right away.

* * *

A very shaggy Castiel is standing in the doorway, trench coat nowhere to be seen, shoulders heaving. Behind him, the Impala is still running, pulled in at a crazy angle that makes it look like Vin Diesel got a hold of it. And then I catch sight of the unmoving form still in the passenger seat...

"Dean!" I scream, shoving past Cas and bolting for the car. I open the passenger door and grab Dean before he can slump to the ground. To my relief, he lets out a small, exasperated groan.

"Cas, what the hell happened?" I'm still yelling as I gather my bloodied brother in my arms. I allow myself to revel in the fact that I once again have the strength to lift him.

"I...I couldn't carry him in. I couldn't get him here..." Cas hasn't moved from where I left him at the front door, and only now do I notice how he's favoring one side, leaning slightly against the outside wall. "Couldn't do..._anything_," he whispers brokenly.

"Cas? Cas, it's okay," I say, adjusting my hold on Dean so I can fit him through the door. "Can you walk to the bed?" I ask over my shoulder, already heading for Dean's room. Halfway there, I think better of it and turn towards my own room instead. He'll be pissed if I get blood on his beloved memory foam. Once I've laid Dean out on my bed, I turn back to look for Cas. He still hasn't moved from the door, seemingly frozen in place.

"CAS!" I yell again. He stares at me, startled, but finally begins to limp across the threshold, taking a painfully long time to close the heavy door behind him. I turn my attention back to my brother, wincing when I catch sight of his crooked nose. _Shit._

* * *

"Hey wha...Whoa, what happened?"

"Thank God. Kevin, grab the first aid kit," I demand as the prophet comes into view in my doorway, stumbling slightly, apparently still half asleep. He hesitates for a second but then takes in all the blood and immediately obeys. I sigh in relief, glad to have some back up.

It's easy to forget that Kevin's still here sometimes. He spends most days locked in his room, sleeping at odd times and spending every waking moment trying to translate the angel tablet, desperately looking for a way to undo Metatron's spell and send the angels back to Heaven. I also strongly suspect that he's been slaving over the Demon tablet as well, looking for an alternate way to slam the Gates.

Kevin returns a moment later, arms overflowing with the first aid kit along with about ten extra rolls of gauze and alcohol swabs.

* * *

"What else can I do?" he asks, eyes widening as he sees the extent of the damage to Dean's battered body up close. _God bless this kid. _

"Can you go check on Cas for me? See how hurt he is," I ask, already removing Dean's layers of clothing. Kevin nods and leaves me to attend to my brother. Dean hasn't made a sound since that initial groan, and I hastily double check his weakened pulse before reaching for the alcohol swabs.

A few hours later, Dean is passed out on my bed, wounds cleaned and dressed, sprained wrist wrapped, and nose readjusted after a hard jerk and a startled yell.

Cas has finally come back to himself enough to start to explain what happened, and Kevin and I sit across from him while he finishes his story.

"Hang on, hang on," I hold up a hand in protest. "_You _drove. You _drove_ the Impala? How did you know where to go? I mean when did you even learn how to drive? How...?" I leave the question hanging, unable to process the ridiculousness of it all.

"I...I've picked up on a few things from watching the two of you drive. It actually wasn't as difficult as I expected. I am not completely oblivious to the workings of a motor vehicle. And angel or not, the location of this bunker is one I will always remember. It's...home," Cas replies, and I'm shocked to see the slight blossom of color that tints his cheeks on the last words.

I charge in with the next question before the silence stretches too long.

"So, these demons? They're looking for Crowley?"

"Yes, it seems the demons didn't take too kindly to having their king held hostage. And despite Abaddon's efforts to take his throne, so to speak, there are still many who are loyal only to Crowley. We will have to be on high alert from now on."

My lip twitches into a small smile. It's been a long time since we _haven't_ been on high alert, but instead of pointing this out, I move on to the question I'm most curious about.

"Cas..how did you kill them? I mean no offense, but you're not exactly a grade A hunter at the moment."

He seems a bit hurt at my words, his tone becoming clipped and defensive. "I did not go in unprepared. I had several of your weapons from the trunk. It seems I haven't completely lose the ability to defend myself, despite having lost my grace. But believe me, I am as surprised as you to have made it out alive."

I'm still finding it hard to wrap my head around it all.

"But...you said you took out three demons? Cas that's..."

"Dean was in trouble," he cuts off, plain and simple.

And that effectively ends the argument for me. Because Cas has always been there for Dean. For both of us. If we're in danger, on the brink of death, Cas will find a way to save us. He always does. And I have no desire to push my inquiries any further. It's comforting and slightly humbling to have an ally like that, angel or not. So I nod and silently convey my thanks, only to catch a small movement out of the corner of my eye.

"Dean, what the _hell_ are you doing out of bed?" I bellow. Dean has managed to hobble silently all the way from my room and into our foyer, leaning most of his weight against the nearest wall. I stare at him incredulously. I don't even want to think about how long it took him to work his faded gray t-shirt over his battered torso.

"How you feelin?" he coughs out, ignoring my question along with my annoyed expression. Despite cleaning off all the blood and resetting his nose, Dean still looks like shit. Bruises mottle his puffy face and his left eye is completely swollen shut. I watch several cuts reopen across his bottom lip as he smiles at me, clearly waiting for an answer to the dumbest question he could be asking right now. But it's the question he always asks, and so I answer it willingly, honestly.

"I'm doing good Dean. Really good actually. Strongest I've felt since starting the trials."

Dean's smile widens into one of genuine happiness- a rarity I've come to treasure, especially when it's me who can put it there. But then his one good eye lands on Cas, and the smile disappears. The mask snaps back into place so quickly that I barely catch a glimpse of the quick flash of emotion that betrays him. It's one he wears far too often for me not to recognize. Guilt. _What the hell? _My eyes narrow at the two of them, trying to fit the pieces together. The only thing I can think of is that Dean feels guilty about getting the crap beaten out of him when he was outnumbered six to one, meaning that Cas had to intervene. Typical Dean, always shouldering the blame for the things he can't control. Guess I shouldn't be surprised he would turn this on himself like he does everything else. I sigh and switch my focus away from Cas and solely back to my brother.

"Dean, you should be resting," I scold, trying to let some of Dad's authority seep into my voice. Dean recognizes the attempt and rolls his eyes at me, opening up another cut right above the lid. _Dammit, knew I should've stitched that one. _

"Sam, I'm fine. Catch me up on the latest," he replies, taking several slow, unsteady steps before he slumps into a chair at the table, practically free falling into it and then trying to hold back his grimace. It doesn't escape my notice though, nor does the fact that he chooses the seat furthest away from Cas. _Drama queen. _I know there's no way he'll go back to bed willingly, so I start talking.

"Uh, well besides the fact that the demons are pissed and basically all out to get us because we hijacked their leader, you haven't missed much. I've been drilling Crowley for information about the location of some higher level demons so we can try to strike first, but so far he hasn't cracked. Also, we're out of tomato rice soup," I tack on as an afterthought. Dean's face hardens for one inexplicable second before he nods slowly.

"I'll uh...I'll make more," he rasps out, glancing guiltily at Cas again, who meets his gaze almost menacingly. _What the hell is going on?_

"What the hell is going on?" Kevin, silent so far, voices my suspicions to the suddenly too tense room.

"Nothing," Dean and Cas say in unison, shooting another meaningful look at each other before their eyes skitter away and find the floor once more.

"No seriously, what's up with you two?" I ask. When neither responds right away, the alarm bells in my head start up a constant ringing. "Dean?" I turn the full force of my question onto my big brother, fully aware of the effect my pleading will have on him. He's never been able to deny me anything. Until now, it seems.

"Sam, it's nothing. Cas and I just had a little disagreement. It's really not a big deal. Let it go." Dean's eyes make their way to Cas once more as he finishes his latest line of bullshit, staring long and hard.

"Dean's right," Cas supplies, "just a small difference of opinion." But Cas isn't as practiced in the art of deception as Dean is, and I easily decipher the flash of anger in his eyes before he can look back at the ground.

_Great. More fucking secrets_, I think. But I nod slightly, dropping it for the moment, knowing I can find Cas later on when he's alone and manipulate him into spilling the beans. It feels wrong to take advantage of Cas like that, especially since he's now even more vulnerable than before, but I shove the guilty thoughts away and focus on the facts. And the fact is that my brother is keeping something from me, and I intend on finding out exactly what that is.

* * *

**Dun dun dun...stay tuned! I got a request for more Cas, so next chapter is his POV. Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Keepin' the A/N short and sweet- here's the next chapter. Enjoy!**

**Cas POV**

* * *

"Seriously Cas, how many times do I have to tell you not to watch a guy when he's sleeping?" Dean grumbles, throwing his good arm across his face. "It's just creepy."

I flinch inwardly, having been caught in my silent assessment of Dean's sleeping form, standing quietly in the doorway to his room, glass of water in hand. Sam had put me in charge of what he deemed "concussion duty", waking Dean every few hours and asking questions he should know the answers too. Unfortunately, those aren't the type of questions I _need_ the answers to right now.

Regardless, I move quickly to Dean's bedside as he lifts himself slowly into a sitting position, and place the water into his waiting hand.

"Thanks," he mutters, sipping slowly.

"Do you know where you are?" I ask the first of the designated questions.

"Lebanon, Kansas. Men of Letters bunker," he says, rolling his eyes but doesn't look at me. "Cas, I'm fine, it's not that bad of a concussion. You don't have to..." he pauses, takes a long, deep breath. "Look, you don't have to be around me any more than what's necessary right now. I know you saved my life back there, and I owe you. But you owe _me_ nothing. Except maybe a few swings to the face, haven't had enough of those lately." he huffs out a short, unamused laugh. I'm searching for a response, but after a few beats of silence, Dean speaks up again, his eyes finally meeting mine.

"Cas why didn't you just leave me? Why would you save me after the things I've done?" his voice betrays him, breaking on the last word, and he clenches his jaw, shifting away from me.

My brow crinkles in disbelief and I stare, dumbfounded for another moment before I can finally speak, the words tumbling off my tongue as I try desperately to make him understand, to somehow erase the grief that fills the contours of his worn face.

"Dean, I'm still...furious. I still haven't fully forgiven you for what you've done. But I would never leave you to your death. I would _never_ abandon you that way. We've both made mistakes. Colossal mistakes. And you've found a way to move past mine, each and every time. So now I will try to do the same for you. We are family, after all," I smile, throwing his old words back at him.

Dean's breath hitches and he turns back to look at me. "You can't...you don't mean that, Cas. You can't forgive me this. I don't..." he stops suddenly, his expression shifting almost instantaneously from one of pure anguish to one of startling detachment. I recoil slightly from the abruptness of the change, only to be alerted to its cause seconds later.

"Hey Sammy," Dean nods. Smiling. As if he wasn't on the edge of breaking down only a moment ago. As if I hadn't just witnessed the crumbling of some of his upstanding walls. It frightens me how easily he can still hide himself, how quickly he can cover up the things that tear him apart from the inside out. I continue to stare at him, beseeching, not even turning to glance at his brother, whom I can feel standing in the doorway. Dean doesn't return my gaze, deliberately choosing to focus only on Sam.

"Hey, feelin' better?" Sam replies, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Yeah, I'm good. Felt fine yesterday too, but you've had me on lockdown anyway. Please tell me you've got something for me to do? I'm dying here," Dean pleads, tossing the sheets aside and beginning to stand. He teeters for a moment on his feet, in danger of falling backwards onto the bed. Without thinking, I reach for him, catching his arm and pulling him upright. His reaction is unanticipated. Dean jerks away, almost losing his balance again.

"Knock it off, Cas," he yells, shoving me backwards.

I stumble back several steps, my hand coming back reflexively to catch me on the nightstand but instead hitting the lamp there, knocking it to the ground where it shatters, glass flying everywhere.

* * *

The room is dead silent for several beats, all three of us staring at the broken shards on the floor. And then suddenly Dean is on his knees beside the nightstand, swatting furiously at the broken glass, trying to dig his way to a small, yellowed piece of paper I had only just noticed.

"Dean, what the hell?" Sam demands. He starts to kneel beside his brother, only to stop halfway and regain his feet. "...Oh," is all he says.

Confused, I focus my attention on what Dean holds in his now shaking, slightly bloodied hands. _Oh_. What I had mistaken for a small, folded piece of paper is actually a photograph.

"Dean I'm sorry..." I start to apologize, but he cuts me off, his tone murderous.

"Stop apologizing. Just stop._ I'm _the one who shoved _you_, Cas._ I'm_ the one who screwed this up, so stop trying to fix it." I read the double meaning behind his words, but the force of them is somewhat diminished as he turns back to the picture that rests in his hands, almost as if he's caressing it. Slowly, using the bed for support, he comes to his feet, brushing off the small pieces of glass that have become embedded in his exposed legs, leaving trails of crimson in their wake. He rubs his thumb across the picture of himself and Mary, making sure it is completely unmarred before placing it back on the nightstand. Sam has been watching the entire display with a somewhat dazed expression, but he seems to finally snap out of it.

"Dean?"

"What Sam?" Dean asks, his gaze still locked on the photograph, his tone suddenly soft. Sam sighs and takes a step forward, grabbing his brother's arm and forcing Dean to face him.

"Please tell me what's going on because you're really starting to freak me out here. You gotta talk to me man. Whatever's going on, believe me, I can handle it. Just...please. Stop with all the goddamn secrets because _that _is what I can't deal with."

"Sam nothing's going on," Dean tries to protest, but I interrupt before he can continue.

"Dean. He needs to know."

Sam eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow to slits as he turns to face me. "Need to know what?" I hesitate, glancing over at Dean who is currently staring at me with a look that should be enough to drop me where I stand.

"NEED TO KNOW WHAT?" Sam screams, whipping his head back and forth between the two of us. At the moment, I don't know which Winchester to be more afraid of. Luckily, their glares seem to bypass me after a moment, choosing to land on each other instead. Dean breaks contact first.

"Dammit Cas," he mutters before exhaling deeply and turning once again to meet his little brother's eyes. "Look...I'll tell you alright? But I know...I know it might change things between us. I know you might hate me for it, so I want you to understand that I don't regret any of it. You get me Sammy? I would do it all over again if I had to."

Sam shakes his head slightly. He's obviously confused, but his tone has softened considerably to match Dean's. "Dean, I could never _hate_ you. Man, you're scaring me. Please just tell me what's going on."

Dean sighs again, running a hand across the small, slowly healing cuts that still mar his lips before he begins to speak. I wait expectantly, and though I already know what Dean has done, I still find myself intrigued to know what he will say- how he will explain it to his brother.

"You were dying, Sam," he murmurs softly. "After the trials, you were dying and your body was shutting down on itself and I knew you weren't gonna make it...so I did what I had to do to save you. It wasn't like I wanted to..."

"What did you do, Dean?" Sam asks quietly. "I asked you if you made another deal and you said..." he starts, the tears beginning to pool behind his eyes. Dean cuts in before they have a chance to fall.

"No no no Sam, I told you before, I didn't make a deal. It's not... I mean I'm not..." he pauses again, trying to find the words. "I guess you could say I'm still damned though." Dean tries for a laugh but it comes out as more of a small, bitter exhale. "I killed an angel, Sam. A few actually. I used their blood to heal you. It was the only way..."

"You what?" Sam whispers, gaping. He stares at the guilt stricken look on Dean's face and after a moment, the words come stronger, angrier. He's screaming before he even understands his own words. "YOU'VE BEEN FEEDING ME _ANGEL BLOOD_? FUCKING ANGEL BLOOD? AND YOU JUST...WHAT? YOU THOUGHT THAT WOULD BE OKAY? YOU THOUGHT I'D BE FINE WITH IT? WHAT THE HELL DEAN?"

"No. No, I knew you wouldn't be fine with it Sam, that's why I didn't tell you," Dean replies, defeated. He appears to have taken a physical beating from his brother's screams, his shoulders hunched and guarded. Sam seems to sense this, but it doesn't deter him completely. Instead, he begins to unleash his anger on me.

"Does that mean you knew about this?" he challenges, turning to face me. "You _knew_ Dean was killing angels, and you didn't do anything to stop it?"

Dean intercedes before I have a chance to respond, placing himself between me and the imposing form of his little brother.

"Don't put this on Cas, Sam. This is all me. Cas almost killed me when he found out. Still might, I imagine. Wouldn't blame him." He glances back to me at those words, his expression as sad and resigned as he had been when I was holding a blade against his neck.

"Dean..." I start, shaking my head, but he has already moved back to Sam.

" I wouldn't blame you either Sammy. Look, I'm not proud. But I did what I had to. And I know you would've done the same for me. So I'm asking you to just..."

"To what, Dean?" Sam asks gravely, "To forget about it? To pretend like I don't know?"

"No Sam, I'm asking for your forgiveness," Dean pleads.

I gauge the silence that follows, searching Sam's face, trying to see beneath the practiced front of a Winchester and read his true emotions.

And suddenly I am bombarded with my own.

I realize that Dean is not only asking for Sam's forgiveness, he is also asking for mine. I return my focus to him and see him glance at me for one loaded moment, confirming my beliefs. I open my mouth to speak, to say something, but close it again after a moment. Dean seems to read my thoughts, speaking up again.

"Look, it doesn't have to be right now. I'm just asking for a chance at 'eventually'. I know it's not something..."

"I forgive you, Dean," Sam interrupts, eyes cast down to the floor. Dean freezes.

"What?" he asks.

"I said I forgive you, Dean. I would've done the same thing for you." When Sam looks up at his brother, his expression is filled only with resolve. With love. And suddenly it's just the two of them in the room. And I feel completely and utterly out of place here. An outsider looking in on something extraordinary. Unbreakable. An immense sadness fills me, but at the same time, I understand that this is exactly as it should be. And so I begin to back quietly from the room, unnoticed by the two men who, even after all this time, still stand together against the world. Against everything.

And I envy them.

* * *

**Dawww poor Cas. Sorry to leave you here, but I'll pick up again with Sam's POV. Plus we'll finally get some Crowley action. Stay tuned, and as always, thank you for all your lovely comments, they keep me motivated!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Another short A/N. Thank you to all of you who have continued to read/review. You guys are awesome. **

**Sam's POV**

* * *

I guess it makes sense. Demon blood was my downfall, so it seems appropriate that angel blood would become my savior.

But that's not exactly true, is it? Because it's actually _Dean_ who is my savior. Always has been, if I'm being honest. And of course I'm still angry. Of course I know how wrong it all is, how horrifying, how sickening it is to drink the blood of an angel. But I also know that there are no limits for how far my brother will go for me, nor I for him. And maybe that's really fucked up, maybe that's all kinds of wrong, but I don't care. Because we are all each other has. And I know that the only way Dean keeps fighting is if I'm there beside him. So I will be. No matter what.

I look up at my big brother across the table from me now, nose buried in some lore book about the origin of demons, steaming mug in hand. It's always coffee now. And even though I sometimes find myself wishing for the simpler days from years ago, I know it wouldn't be worth the return of the ever present stench of whiskey on Dean's breath. We've both come so far since that time. We've both changed so much. I can't imagine ever going back to being the rebellious know-it-all I used to be, just like I can't imagine Dean reverting back to his former self. I know that the pain of the past still wears heavily on both of us, but we've learned to carry it together, to balance it out so that both of us can still breathe.

"You should take a picture," Dean mutters around his mug, eyes still scanning the current page of his book.

"Huh?" I ask, pulled from my reverie.

"I said, you should take a picture. It'll last longer. Seriously man, what's with the people in this house constantly checking me out? I'm starting to think Kevin's the only one I'm safe around anymore," he jokes, but the small smile plastered on his face is a cautious one. I can tell he's watching every subtle shift of my expression, trying to pick up on any indication that he's still unforgiven, that I'm still about to start swinging.

"Sorry, just thinking," I sigh, knowing it'll take a while before that guarded look is gone from his face. And after what he told me about his encounter with Cas in that warehouse, I guess I can't blame him.

"Alright well how 'bout we both quit thinking and start _doing_. It's about time for another Crowley interrogation, don't you think?" Dean says, standing up and setting his book on the table. He winces slightly, still recovering from his injuries, and I move to stand as well.

"You okay?" I ask, though I already know the answer he'll give.

"I'm good, Sam." He pauses, smiling less hesitantly this time. "To the dungeon!"

I roll my eyes, following him towards the stairs. I guess there are some things about my big brother that haven't changed all that much after all.

* * *

"You realize I can do this all day, right?" Dean taunts, tossing another splash of holy water over the King of Hell, whose skin sizzles in response. But just like every other time, Crowley keeps his mouth clamped shut, barely letting out a small groan of pain. We've been at it for about an hour now, and I can tell Dean's getting impatient. I don't like to admit it, but he scares me when he's like this.

When we first found Crowley and locked him in our so-called "dungeon", Dean was hesitant when I asked about the obvious interrogations that would have to take place. And of course I knew he would be.

"It's just...it just gets too close to Hell sometimes, you know?" he had said, eyes still brimming with shame and grief from the things he had been forced to do all those years ago. I had nodded in agreement and hadn't broached the subject again. But Dean had come to me the very next day with a list of what we would need. Didn't talk, he just came into my room with a list titled "Crowley" and a guilty look. But he had finally agreed. Just like I knew he would.

After all, Crowley is a wealth of information when it comes to the location of his demons, his hellhounds, and every other black-eyed evil that walks this earth. And maybe, just maybe, he could give us another way to shut the Gates for good. If only he would _open his goddamned mouth. _

But as much as I want Crowley to spill his guts, I'm not exactly inclined to do it by any means necessary. Dean's careless sneer is enough to deter me from that. I can't lose him again, not one single part of him. He's about to go in for another round with Ruby's knife (dipped in salt and more holy water) when I latch onto his shoulder, pulling him back to my side.

"What?" he snaps at me, knife twirling expertly in his fingers, shoulders tense.

"Dean, uh, why don't you let me take it for a minute here, okay? Take a break man," I plead. His expression softens almost instantly at my words, his body relaxing as he hands the knife to me.

"Sorry, Sammy," he says, "I didn't mean to get so...you know..."

"It's okay," I reply, slapping him lightly on the back and making my way over to Crowley. The King of Hell regards me with a look of detached loathing, rolling his eyes as I advance.

"Oh come on, Moose," he drawls, "You really think _you_ could ever get anything out of me? Your brother was a torture apprentice in _Hell_ and even he can't make a dent. But good luck to you. I'm just _dying_ to see how this goes."

"I'm not gonna torture you, Crowley," I smile. Dean whips his head around at my words, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, but he doesn't say a word. Knows me well enough to know I have some kind of plan formulated. Crowley isn't so easily accepting.

"Right, that's why there's a knife thrust into your abnormally large hand at the moment," he deadpans, shifting against the chains that lock him down. He seems nervous, more uncertain than we've seen him in all our fruitless interrogations, especially when I place the knife on the table a few feet away, coming to stand directly in front of him.

"Look, I know you want to forget about everything that happened on the night of the final trial, but I won't let you. You're not who you used to be. And you shouldn't _want_ to be that anymore. Just talk to me Crowley. Drop the act and talk to me like you did in that church," I challenge, my eyes never leaving his face.

Crowley stares at me, and for a second, I think we've finally gotten somewhere. And then he bursts into a booming laugh that erupts from deep in his throat and echoes across the walls of the darkened cellar. I grimace and take a step back, trying to hide my frustration. Crowley's laughter turns into a short coughing fit, followed by his next words.

"Oh come _on_ Moosey, you're talking to the King of Hell here. You honestly think you can manipulate me into giving up my own damn army? Thought you were supposed to be the smart one," he jeers.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, trying to keep my voice steady.

"You can lie about it all you want, but I know something happened back there. There was a moment, a small moment, when you _felt_ something, Crowley. Don't back away from that. There's still hope for forgiveness, for redemption. You don't have to keep lying."

I can feel Dean's eyes burning a hole in the back of my skull, begging for answers, though he still hasn't cut in. I realize I haven't yet revealed everything that happened in the church that night. Guess we've both been too busy almost dying for me to give a full report. Despite Dean's gaze, I keep my eyes locked on Crowley, which is why I see the quick flicker of something behind his eyes before his smirk falls back in place.

"Please," he sneers, "save the conversion speech for someone with a soul you impudent hypocrite. I'm not bloody interested." His words are harsh as ever, but the inflection has changed, if only minutely. There's a small waver in his voice, a small lick of doubt at his own words, something I'm sure he's not used to. I smile. We've won this round, even if Crowley doesn't know it yet.

"Alright. Fair enough. Just think about what I said. You don't have to be the same person anymore. There's always a choice," I say, moving back to the tray of assorted torture mechanisms and picking up Ruby's knife. "Let's go Dean."

Dean is still staring at me, trying to process the things I've said, but he shakes himself off and starts walking towards the stairs, Crowley's sarcastic quips about wanting some Scotch following close behind.

The second we're back upstairs, out of earshot, Dean whirls on me.

"Um, you gonna explain what all that was back there Sam?" he asks, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"Yeah, I will Dean, chill. There's some things that slipped my mind while we were both fighting for our lives these past few weeks. I swear I'll explain when..."

"No you can explain now. I've got time," Dean presses, leading me to our enormous dining room table and gesturing for me to sit down. He plops into the seat next to me, all business.

"Okay," he demands, "Spill."

* * *

**Next chapter coming soon!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Special thanks to LilyBolt and jojospn for their absolutely AMAZING reviews. You guys are the best! And of course thank you to all other readers and reviewers- it means a lot to me that you've stuck with me for this long. This chapter is a little short, but I wanted to get it out there because I feel I've gotten a little behind lately with the updates. Enjoy!**

* * *

**Dean's POV**

"Okay so lemme get this straight," I say. "Crowley actually said that he wants to be...that he wants to be _loved_? Are we talking about the same King of Hell here Sam? What am I missing?"

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but yeah. That's what he said. And that's why I think the best way to handle all of this is to stop with the torturing and start...I don't know, appealing to his humanity instead," Sam replies earnestly. I'm shaking my head slowly before he's even done talking.

"Jeez are you feeling okay?" I joke halfheartedly, "I mean this is ridiculous, even for us. You want to appeal to Crowley's _humanity_?"

"Dean, I know what I saw and I know what I heard. My blood _was_ curing him, and if I would've finished the trial..." Sam stops, closing his eyes briefly. "If I had just finished that goddamned trial, I _know_ it would've worked. And everything would be over," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his fingers.

My throat tightens as I think back to how close Sam had actually come to taking that final step. How close I had been to losing him. Again. The sorrow I see in his eyes now angers me. Scares me. As if he regrets listening to me. Regrets being alive.

"And what exactly does that mean?" I whisper. My voice sounds too weak to my own ears, and I know Sam notices it too.

"Look Dean, I'm just saying...it seems like it might've been best if I had just..."

"No Sam," I manage to interrupt, my voiced choked, but louder this time. "No. Your death would never be _best_, you understand me? That's the furthest thing from "best" there is, so knock it off and start telling me how you're planning on turning Crowley into a goddamn Care Bear," I finish, still seething despite my attempt at humor. Sam can see the effect his words have had on me, and he regroups, succumbing dutifully to my obvious change of subject.

"Alright, well I don't really have a plan formulated. It's not like there's a manual for it or anything. I just think we need to dig into Crowley's past a little. Find out what made him tick way back when and see if we can use it to kind of...turn his emotions back on."

"Yeah but we already did that, remember? When we were getting Bobby's soul back." I stutter a little over the name, but we both choose to ignore it. "He's a tailor named Fergus. And we didn't just dig up his past, we dug up his _bones_. In _Scotland_. And if you think I'm taking another nine hour flight, you are sadly mistaken." I shudder at the memory of being cooped up on a plane for that long.

Sam smirks back at me. "We don't have to go to Scotland. But Dean, there's gotta be _something_ Crowley cared about when he was human. Everyone has a soft spot. We just have to find his."

"Alright," I say after a moment, still reeling from the incredulity of the whole situation. "But can we eat first? I'm starving."

I start making my way towards the kitchen before Sam even has a chance to respond, knowing he probably hasn't eaten much today either. I open the fridge, reaching for the pulled pork sandwiches I'd left for him when I'd gone looking for Cas. It's probably the last day we can eat them before they go bad. I've got the container open, about to shovel a few of the sandwiches onto a plate when I remember.

I'm frozen, my hand poised over the container when Sam lumbers into the kitchen behind me. Immediately, I come back to myself, hastily cramming every last piece of pork into the garbage can, letting the juices run down the side and into the plastic bag.

My little brother stares at me for one silent, uneasy moment before opening the fridge, taking in its contents. I grimace at what I know he now sees.

All of the food I had prepared had been laced with angel blood.

I clear my throat. "I'll uh...I'll make a run. You want a salad or something?"

"That's okay," Sam grunts, "I can go. I'm guessing you want a burger, extra onions? We should get something for Cas and Kevin too." He starts moving to the front door, reaching to check for the wad of cash always crumpled in his back pocket.

"Wait..." I start to say. Sam turns to face me.

"What?"

I shake my head, trying to form a coherent thought. Trying to tell Sam how sorry I am, how much I wish he didn't have to know about what I did to save him. How much I wish it had been _me_ that had taken on the trials so that none of this would've happened in the first place. But I don't say any of it.

"...Nothing. I...nothing." I mumble instead.

"Dean, _what_?" Sam demands. I sigh deeply, wishing I'd never opened my mouth.

"Just uh...just be careful," I say.

Sam cocks his head to the side. "Yeah okay. Get some rest, Dean," he replies, turning to leave once again. I flinch away from the resounding slam of the door and make my way back to the kitchen and the still open fridge, filled to the brim with the thing that has become the source of this newest all-consuming guilt.

* * *

I don't remember much of what happens next. I only remember after.

After the leftover food has littered the walls and the broken containers lie in pieces on the floor and I sit in the middle of the whole mess, back pressed into the cold metal of the now empty fridge, hands shaking and chest constricting, cutting off my air. _The first one had been the worst._

I close my eyes against the memories, but they come anyway, crashing past my rapidly collapsing defenses.

"_Please," the angel pleaded. "Please help me."_

_I stare, bewildered, at the battered man lying on the road in front of me, his leg bent at an awkward angle and blood seeping into the folds of his clothes, staining them with a deep, rich crimson. _

_And I almost help him. _

_I almost run to his side and start to staunch the bleeding with the shirt off my back and I almost lead him to the Impala, taking the weight off his bad leg and making sure he keeps his rib cage open so he can breathe. I almost drive like hell to the nearest hospital and make sure he's in good hands before returning to a different hospital. The one that holds my own dying brother..._

_Sammy. _

_I continue to look at the bleeding, broken angel in the middle of the road and suddenly I don't see yet another person for me to save. _

_I see a gift. _

_This is the miracle I'd been praying for. This is how I can save Sam. I don't know how I know that angel blood will be his cure, but I do. I can practically see the grace that emanates from the man before me, and suddenly I know exactly what I have to do. _

"_Wait! Wait!" the angel chokes out as I turn back and head directly for the trunk of my car, lifting the hidden compartment and finding the long, silver blade buried amongst hex bags and iron rounds and sawed off shot guns. The choked sobs for help become an incessant cry for mercy as the angel sees what I now hold in my hands. _

"_Please. No, please. _Please_," the angel whimpers. He's managed to push himself up from his elbows, hauling his body backwards one inch at a time as I advance, his broken leg dragging uselessly across the pavement. _

"_I'm sorry," I say. And I am. But that doesn't stop me from driving the knife home, doesn't stop me from throwing the now dead angel over my shoulder and into the back of the Impala, speeding back towards the only person left alive that could ever compel me to do what I've just done..._

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**Next chapter should be up soon! Have a lovely day. **


	12. Chapter 12

**So I know I'm kinda stuck on Dean right now, but first of all; I'm a Dean girl, so it's natural. Secondly, I don't think that killing defenseless beings (angels or not) is something Dean would take lightly or let go that easily, so I'm trying to portray the amount of guilt I think would suit his character. In my humble opinion, no matter how far Dean has progressed, he still takes on a huge weight of responsibility for the things he's done. (ALSO HOLY CRAP CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE PREMIER LAST NIGHT? JEEZ). Anyway, enough with the A/N- onto the story.**

* * *

**Dean's POV**

"Dean? Dean?"

The voice sounds scared, desperate. It's a tone I've been conditioned to respond to for my entire life, and it pulls me back now, back to the hard floor of the kitchen and the array of smashed containers and food that is now splattered across almost every inch of the tiles.

I blink past my blurry eyes, jerking back suddenly and smacking my head against the fridge when I see how close Cas's face is to mine. _Jeez._

"Dean, are you alright?" he asks, kneeling in front of me, hands gripped tightly in the collar of my shirt, shaking me back to the present. And I want to respond, to tell him to get the hell out of my personal space, to back away and let me be, but in my head all I see is the stricken expression of a helpless angel right before I extinguished the light from his eyes.

So I just stare.

And suddenly there's a bucket of ice cold water being splashed across my face and most of my torso, soaking through my shirt and cascading down onto the floor, mixing in with the cold noodles of Sam's favorite pasta salad.

"Kevin, what the hell?" I yell, leaping to my feet and turning to face the prophet, who grasps the condemning bucket in his hands.

"Sorry," he stutters, "you...you were just sitting there. Cas and I were calling your name for a solid five minutes and you wouldn't budge. Had to snap you out of it somehow."

I clench my jaw to prevent myself from spewing the offensive string of profanities that threaten to slip past, instead focusing on taking deep breaths to calm myself. _Who the fuck throws a bucket of freezing cold water on someone? Seriously?_

I shake as much of the water as I can from my hair, some of the droplets landing on the countertop and glistening against the otherwise spotless surface. I pause for a second, watching them shimmer before stalking off towards the bathroom. Kevin and Cas follow close behind like two little goslings following their goddamn mother or something.

I whirl to face them, hands pressed against either side of the doorframe, fingernails burrowing into the wood. "What?" I bellow, "Now I'm not allowed to dry myself off?" I tell myself it's the chill of the water that's making me tremble.

Cas and Kevin just stare at me, a mixture of fear and alarm written clearly in the lines of their faces. I run a hand across my forehead, digging my fingers painfully into my temples, trying to clear my head.

"Sorry I uh...I'm...I need a minute," I stammer, pushing off against the doorframe and slamming the door behind me, immediately reaching to grab the sink to keep myself from crashing to the floor. A few more short huffs of breath and I'm finally steady enough to lift my face to the mirror, closing my eyes instantly when I see the familiar guilt lodged behind them.

"Dean?" Cas's voice is muffled behind the door, but I can still hear the obvious concern bleeding from it.

"I'm fine, Cas," I lie, resting my forehead against the mirror. _I'mfineI'mfineI'mfine._

I quickly dry my face with a towel and emerge from the bathroom a few minutes later, almost slamming Cas with the door when it swings open.

"I'm fine," I repeat, rolling my eyes and striding back towards the kitchen. Someone's gotta clean up that damn mess before...

"Sam?"

My little brother is standing in the entranceway to the kitchen, eyes wide, holding a crumpled paper bag that reads 'Hal's Diner' in obnoxious red bubble letters.

"Dean...what happened?" he asks, gaping at me.

"I uh..." I search my mind for some kind of explanation. "Uh...Food fight?" I laugh weakly, sensing that Kevin and Cas have come to stand behind me, taking in the scene before them. _Wow. Nice work, Dean. A+ for the least believable story in history._

"A food fight?" Sam huffs. "Bullshit. Dean, what the fuck happened? This is..." He seems at a loss for words, gesturing to the disaster in front of him.

"Sam I just..." I start.

"It was my fault," Kevin interjects, stepping over a half eaten cheeseburger and coming completely into the kitchen. And now Sam's not the only one gaping. I'm trying to control the shock that I'm sure is written all over my face, grateful that Sam has turned his attention to Kevin _who is still holding that goddamned bucket for Christ's sake._

"Yeah," Kevin laughs shakily, "Whoever closed the fridge last did a horrible job making sure everything was in the right place because when I went to open it, everything just kind of tumbled out onto the floor...sorry. I found a bucket to fill with soapy water," he says, shifting it against his legs. "I was gonna clean it up..."

I wait, trying to read Sam's expression. He's squinting hard at Kevin, but then he glances over at me, eyebrows raised. I shrug, the corner of my mouth curling upwards slightly- the signature smirk that I know Sam hates.

"Yeah...okay Kevin," Sam replies after another moment, clearly not buying it. "So who wants food?"

He's dropped it for now, but by the look he gives me next, I know this is far from the end of it.

* * *

"I need to talk to my brother for a minute."

_Shit. _

We've all just about finished our food at this point, the four of us sitting around the bunker's kitchen table. From an outsider's perspective, we would probably look like the once popular high school jocks, now worn ragged from the stress of the real world. In my opinion, the outsider sees the best case scenario.

All I see when I look at the three men around me is pain and loss and suffering and more pain.

"Dean?" from his tone, I can tell it's not the first time Sam has tried to get my attention.

"Yeah?" I ask wearily.

"I said; I need to talk to you. It's important," Sam says, hitting me full force with his wide, pleading eyes.

"Yeah well, you're gonna have to wait. Pretty sure it's my night to do dishes," I grin. It's a ridiculous defense mechanism, but sometimes if I can annoy my little brother enough, he'll give up on trying to have a serious conversation.

"Dean."

God he sounds just like Dad when he says my name like that. He knows it too. Does it on purpose. And I can tell he won't let this one go, no matter how badly I want him to.

"Fine, yeah. Fine," I comply, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Kevin takes this as his cue to leave, gathering up the silverware and styrofoam containers that we all know don't even _need_ to be washed. Cas, on the other hand, is still about as socially adequate as a humpback whale and doesn't make a move to get up, still picking at the remainder of his hamburger bun.

"Hey Cas, can you give us a minute?" Sam asks. The former angel jolts back slightly, as if pulled from some deep reverie, before nodding once and standing, almost tripping over his chair as he leaves. I can't decide whether I want to laugh or cry.

I'm spared from having to make that decision though because Sam has turned his full attention on me, endless questions no doubt already balanced on the tip of his tongue. He lets the first one tumble out.

"Why'd you do it, Dean?"

I let out the breath I've been holding. _Dammit not this again please._ "I told you Sam, you were dying and I..."

"No. No, not that Dean. I mean why the hell did you trash our kitchen, you idiot?"

It takes me a second to respond, and I can feel Sam growing more impatient the longer I wait. Again, I choose the easiest option, the one way I can think of to avoid all this emotional shit.

"Did you not hear Kevin?" I say, eyes focused on the floor. "I'm blaming _you_ for that by the way. I'm pretty sure you were the one who closed the fridge last. I mean obviously, we've gotta work on your tupperware placement. Sloppy, just sloppy."

I wait for the yelling then. I wait for the exaggerated exhale, the frustrated sigh. I wait for Sammy to shake me by the shoulders and tell me to stop lying to him. I wait for the things I've come to expect from my baby brother, but now they never come. Confused, I raise my head to stare back up at him.

He's just looking at me.

Not staring. Just looking. Mouth closed, jaw set- he's waiting for me to break the silence. Thinks that if he stays quiet long enough, I'll be forced to fill the empty space with words. He's waiting for the truth to come pouring out, praying that I'll vent all this newfound guilt instead of turning it into another seamlessly tragic punchline.

"Stop looking at me like that," I say, not wanting to disappoint him completely but also not willing to give in. He just shakes his head, still not saying anything.

"I know what you're trying to do," I say after another beat of silence. "Not happening bro, sorry." I shrug and wait for his rebuttal. Still, it doesn't come.

We're just standing there like idiots. Totally silent. Finally, I can't take anymore.

"Whatever Sammy, I'm goin to bed. You decide you actually want a conversation, you come find me." I start walking towards my room, feeling like even more of an idiot when I realize it can't be more than quarter past nine. _Wow. Genius excuse Dean, fantastic job. _

"Dean don't walk away from me." Dammit that kid knows exactly what to say. I stop, still not turning to face him.

"I know you still feel guilty, but you _have_ to move past this, man," he begs. "I need you here with me, one hundred percent. Just like you need me. I've already forgiven you. So now you need to forgive yourself. And I know that's not an easy thing- God knows I know that."

"Sam..." I start to say.

"Shut up Dean. Just listen for a second," he says, cutting me off. "We've both done some pretty awful things. But get. Over. It. I won't let you drag yourself down with all this shit anymore. It's gonna kill you. So knock it off. Snap the fuck out of it Dean because I am _not_ doing this alone."

I'm trying so hard to hold everything back that I don't realize how close Sam's gotten until he places a strong hand on my shoulder, spinning me around to face him.

"Got it?" he asks, twisting his fingers into a death grip on my sleeve, forcing me to look at him.

"Yeah Sam. Got it," I reply. And I do. I get it. I've watched my little brother drown in his own guilt before, and I know exactly what it feels like to drown in my own. To give in to the gnawing, aching pit in my stomach that leads straight to nowhere.

I can't do that again. For Sammy's sake, I can't _be_ that again.

"Okay," I say, huffing out a long sigh. "Let's start digging, shall we?"

* * *

**I'm thinking of doing the next chapter from Kevin's POV. Let me know what you think! And thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Here's the next installment, enjoy!**

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**Kevin's POV**

I think I stopped breathing at about the second stair from the top.

I suck in a deep breath now, trying to calm myself down. Just one look, that's all I need. Then I'll go back upstairs and get back to work on the damn angel tablet.

I just have to see him. Just once. Because so far, none of this is real to me. Because right now, I can convince myself that all the work I've done over the past year, all the things I've sacrificed, have been worth it. But as I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see that that's not true.

Crowley sits with his back to me, tethered to a large metal chair with heavy chains that bind him indefinitely. I note the devil's trap carvings that adorn each chain, relieved to see that there's no way he can escape. Still, I'd prefer him dead.

"Well if it isn't my favorite little prophet." His booming voice startles me and I take an involuntary step back. "Come to interrogate me too? Want to learn all my dirty little secrets?" he taunts.

I stay silent, moving to stand in front of the demon that has ruined my life. He regards me critically, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Ah. Kevin. I was wondering when you'd make an appearance. It's about time," he smirks. When I still don't respond, he speaks up again, addressing me with the same detached tone.

"Oh come on Kev, now you're just going to stand there like a blubbering idiot? No questions, no interrogation? My God. With shrewdness like that, it's a wonder you all didn't succeed." He waits for what I know he hopes is an angry retort. Instead, I give him a name.

"Leslie MacLeod." The name scrapes unfamiliarly against my tongue, but it has the desired effect.

"What?" Crowley croaks, straightening up a little in his chair and making the chains rattle together.

"Leslie MacLeod," I repeat, watching his face carefully. "She was your sister wasn't she? All those centuries back? I wonder how she would feel about the thing you've become. I wonder how she would react if she saw you now..."

"Shut up." The words are choked, hesitant. It's the first time I've ever heard Crowley seem uncertain. Almost scared. I push down the wave of hope that has suddenly flooded my heart, trying to stay calm, controlled. I can't drop the ball now. I've already gotten this far.

"Be honest with yourself," I continue, noting the way Crowley's hands clamp tightly around the armrests of his chair. "Do you really think she'd be proud? You used to be a good person, a good brother. She looked up to you. She loved you. How could you do this to her?"

Crowley rolls his eyes, trying to keep the smirk in place. But there's a small sliver of something close to desperation behind his eyes now, and I latch onto it.

"She always wanted to be just like her big brother you know? Even when you started getting into witchcraft like your Mom. Even when you went too far..."

"I SAID SHUT THE HELL UP!" Crowley screeches, yanking desperately against his bonds, jerking the chains violently and huffing out deep, ragged breaths. After another bout of intense struggling, he finally sags back against the back of the hard metal chair, still panting. I soften my tone now, choosing my next words carefully.

"She wouldn't have wanted this for you. You know that. But you can change it, Crowley. There's still time to _fix_ this. So help us. And help yourself."

Crowley stares at me for a long, loaded moment, his normally empty eyes now glistening just a little too much, his breathing halted and uneven. And then he glares at me, eyes searing into my skull.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, Kevin Tran," he growls. "I'm going to revel in the sound of your pathetic screams when I cut out that sharp little tongue of yours and watch you bleed beneath my feet. And if you _ever_ mention that name to me again, you can be certain that every moment you spend in Hell will be spent with _me_. And trust me when I say that that is not something you want."

I choke back my surprise, trying not to be thrown off guard by Crowley's sudden ferocity. He smiles then, a small, terrifying smile that has me swallowing hard against the bile that has suddenly climbed its way past my throat.

"Fuck you," I manage to spit back, retreating towards the stairs as he continues to hurl violent threats my way. By the time I get back upstairs, I'm shaking.

"How'd it go, Kev?"

I jump at the sound of Dean's voice, trying to get myself back under control. "I...uh," I stutter. "...He remembers who she is. His sister. He...he got upset. You know...like really upset..."

Dean's eyes light up for the first time in a long time. "Good, good. That's actually fantastic news," he says, slapping me on the back with a little too much gusto. "Good job kid."

"Sure," I nod. "Just make sure there's no way he can get out of those chains. I really don't want to be the King of Hell's chew-toy anytime soon. Or you know...again." I try to keep my voice light, but the fear behind my words is evident. Dean frowns, meeting my eyes.

"Kevin, listen to me. He's not getting out, you understand me? He's locked down good and tight. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, alright?"

I nod again, only slightly comforted. I try to leave, try to crawl back to the safety of my room, but Dean stops me, reaching out to grab my arm.

"You don't have to go down there again Kevin," he says. "We needed to catch him off guard that first time, but now it can just be me and Sam doing the interrogating. You did good, but you're done now, alright? Now all you have to worry about is that tablet."

"Yeah okay. Tell me when you get somewhere," I say, heading towards the stairs that lead to my room. As much as I hate the tedious task of translating the angel tablet, it's better than what I just had to do. And as much as I want to help, sometimes it seems like I'm better off just locked in my room, letting Cas and the Winchester brothers take on the world together like they always have.

Not that I'm giving up. Far from it.

It's just that sometimes I feel like I'm still the dorky honor's student with the proud mom and the pretty girlfriend. I look around at my life now and wonder how the hell I got to where I am; what I did to deserve any of this.

But I also know that I can never be the kid that I was. And as much as I'd like to go back to my normal, boring life, I know it's impossible. Knowing the things I know now, I can never go back to that. But I guess that also makes me kind of lucky, in a way.

Because I'm alive. Despite what I've seen, and despite what I know, I'm still here. And I've found something to fight for.

And most days, that's enough.

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**Thanks for reading! Next chapter is Cas's point of view. Thanks for sticking with me so far, I appreciate all your awesome comments!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Here's the next chapter, from Cas's POV as promised. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, and kept up with the story- it means a lot to me!**

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**Cas POV**

Sometimes I wonder how humans make it through a single day, let alone a lifetime. There are so many minuscule things to consider, so many ways a human body can break down if it is not properly taken care of.

I find myself constantly on the brink of exhaustion, especially after the daily training that the Winchesters have insisted I partake in. I understand the intent behind it, of course, so I do not complain. I practice with the angel blade the most, sparring against both brothers until sweat beads across my forehead and I am in danger of collapsing. But still, I don't stop. I know that Sam and Dean only wish for me to be able to protect myself.

We all neglect to mention the fact that even if I can develop the skills of a well-trained hunter, it would do little to stop the onslaught of the thousands of vengeful angels out for my head.

And I neglect to tell the Winchesters of my plan to leave them.

It seems a heartless thing to do. To abandon them again in their time of need. But without my grace, without my power, I am of little use to the Winchesters. All I am now is a target. And I cannot allow any harm to come to either of them, simply because the angels want _me_. So I have decided to leave. Tonight.

* * *

"You okay, Cas?" Dean asks around a mouthful of steak. He wipes unconsciously at the juice that dribbles down his chin, fixing me with that all-knowing stare of his.

"Yes, I'm fine," I reply, returning my gaze to my own food. I had thought that I had been able to maintain some sense of normal behavior today, despite my plans for later, but Dean, perceptive as ever, has apparently still managed to find some small flaw in my performance.

"Sure, yeah. That's why you've spent the last hour scraping food back and forth across your plate," Dean smirks, rolling his eyes at me. "Seriously, what's up with you today?"

I glance up at the three faces staring back at me around the table. The three people I care about most in the world. I cannot bear to disappoint them again, even though I know it is inevitable. I cannot risk their lives for mine.

"Dean. The world has once again been plunged into chaos, and once again, it is my fault," I grind out. "There also seems to be no possible way to fix what I've done. So if you ever wonder why I may not seem particularly happy, that is most likely the reason." I watch guiltily as the shock and hurt sweeps across Dean's face before he is able to recover himself.

"Jeez Cas, take it easy," he tries to joke, "just making sure it's nothing more than the usual crap."

I nod but continue to stare at my plate, still covered with two thirds of my steak and an untouched baked potato. No one speaks for the remainder of the meal, all of us perhaps contemplating the things I've said. And what I've said is true.

Even after weeks of translating, Kevin seems no closer to finding a way to cast the angels back into Heaven. And there has been no advancement on the demon front either.

And I am powerless to do anything. About _any_ of it.

And it kills me.

My chair scrapes loudly against the tiles as I stand abruptly, practically running from the room. I can no longer stare at the faces of the people I have let down. I can no longer be a threat to them.

"Sam, leave it," I hear Dean yell, his fork clanging noisily back onto his plate.

"Cas?" Sam calls, following close behind me despite his brother's wishes. His voice echoes off the walls of the long corridor that leads to the room I have been calling my own for the past few weeks. The first few nights in that room had been the hardest. Sleeping was a strange and unsettling sensation, one I have yet to get used to, despite my brief time as a human just a few years ago. I slam the door shut behind me, sliding the lock through in one swift motion and backing into the opposite corner, making sure the bag of clothes and supplies I had packed earlier is still hidden beneath my bed.

"Cas, come on," Sam says, pounding his fist against the door. I'm almost surprised it doesn't splinter and break. Sam's health has improved dramatically, and he is back up to full strength despite no longer ingesting angel blood. For that I am grateful. If Sam had begun to regress, I know what Dean's choice would've been.

The pounding stops, and I strain to make out the whispers I can now hear behind the door.

"Sam just leave it alone. He's still adjusting. He just needs time," Dean mutters. He sounds almost as exhausted as I feel.

"I get that Dean, but he can't just shut out all these new human emotions. He probably needs to talk these things out- you know, kind of like what we should be doing. What we've failed to do in the past. I just don't want to see him bottle all this up, only to crack apart at the seams. We still need him." Sam's words catch me off guard, and I rock back against the far wall of my room, letting myself sink to the floor. _They need me? But I'm useless..._

Dean's aggravated sigh pulls me back to their conversation, and as much as I ache to hear more, my decision has already been made. I shove off against the wall, flinging the door open to the two surprised faces of the Winchesters, trying to slide one of the many masks Dean wears so well across my own face.

They both stare at me, waiting for me to speak.

"I'm going to the bathroom," I announce lamely, shuffling back down the hall. I feel their eyes on me, but I don't turn to look, keeping my own eyes trained on the bathroom to my left. I reach the door and shut it behind me, running a hand across my forehead.

Sighing, I turn to face the mirror, pulling back slightly when I notice the reddish tinge that now rims my eyelids and the wrinkles that have embedded themselves into the corners of my mouth, pulling it down into what looks like a permanent frown. I rub a hand along my chin, caught up in the feel of the small hairs that bristle against my fingers- the beginnings of a beard.

When I finally emerge from the bathroom a short time later, I have managed to compose myself. I walk back to the kitchen, expecting some kind of confrontation, but it is only Dean in the room now, clearing off my half eaten plate and placing it carefully in the sink. He inclines his head toward me, but doesn't say anything. I move to sit on one of the stools across from him, watching as he reaches to clean the first dish, soap already seeping from the sponge in his hand.

We stay silent like that for a long time. Finally, when Dean has dried the last of the silverware, he turns to face me.

"Look man, I know this is scary. I know you're going through a lot right now and you feel like you're to blame. But every single one of us played a part..." I start to interrupt, but Dean cuts me off. "It's true Cas. We've all made mistakes. And Metatron is an evil son of a bitch. But we're gonna get him. No matter what it takes, we _will_ fix this. Doesn't matter what condition you're in right now, we still need you on board with us, okay?"

I almost forget about everything then.

I almost run back to that room and start throwing my packed clothes back into the drawers of my dresser with the promise that I'll never even _think_ of leaving again.

But I don't.

Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing there was some way to avoid doing what I know I have to do. Wishing Dean had never opened his mouth just now.

I know he won't forgive me this time. I've left him broken and alone so many times before, and I know he won't be able to understand how I could leave again after everything. But as long as Sam and Dean and Kevin remain out of harms way, out of the way of the angels, then I know I have done my job.

I manage a small nod and an artificial smile. "Okay."

* * *

**Next chapter is Dean's POV. Dun dun dun... =P**


	15. Chapter 15

**It's a short chapter, apologies on that, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. **

* * *

**Dean's POV**

"CAS! CAS DAMMIT WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" I scream for the thousandth time. I'm scouring the entire bunker, opening the doors to every room and closet we have, practically swinging them off the hinges.

_He's not gone. He _can't_ be gone._

"Dean, he's gone."

I whirl to face my brother, hands shaking. "No..." I start to say. But no more words will come. I know Sam's right. The empty drawers in Cas's room practically scream what deep down, I already know._ Cas left us. Again. _

"Dean..."

"How could he do that? I mean how could he...?" I let the question hang there. I know it can't be answered.

"He probably thought it'd be safer for us Dean. With all the angels after him, I'm sure he was just trying to protect us, you know? Keep us out of the crossfire." Sam tries to supply one anyway, watching me warily, waiting for me to snap. Thinks it's inevitable. So I prove him wrong.

I start to laugh instead.

It sounds unhinged and maniacal, even to my own ears, but I keep laughing anyway, my words filling the space between each broken spurt.

"We...we sure...taught him well...huh Sammy? I mean...all that training...he didn't even wake us up...didn't even...I mean...that's one heavy door and he just...he just..." I break off suddenly, my breath catching. And suddenly there's something lodged in my throat. It tastes like copper and metal and betrayal. I swallow against it, trying to push it back down.

"Fuck." It's all I can think of to say. So I say it a few more times, until Sam grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me hard.

"Dean, it's okay," he reassures me. "We'll find him. We'll bring him back and we'll explain to him what a goddamn idiot he is and it'll all be fine. We can start looking now, okay? He couldn't've gotten far. We'll get him back."

I laugh again. Just one short, unamused snort.

"Don't you get it Sam? He's _gone_. He doesn't _want_ to be found."

"That's never stopped us before. And Cas isn't exactly a grade a con-artist. I'm sure we can figure out where he went. We just have to figure it out. Like always," Sam says. I can feel the desperation seeping from his voice, and I realize with a jolt that I'm not the only one affected by this. Sam is worried too. Sam is scared too.

I nod, pushing my shoulders back and bringing my eyes up to meet my brother's. "Alright, yeah. So where do we start?"

* * *

"Pretty sure this was the worst plan ever," I sigh, turning the Impala down another random street. "I mean really? Just drive around and see if we can bump into Cas by accident? We should've..."

"Should've what, Dean?" Sam asks. "There's no mathematical formula on how to track down an angel turned human when he's looking to get as far away from us as possible. There's no other way than to just drive and see if we get lucky."

"Right. Right, because we're just the poster-boys for 'lucky', aren't we?" I retort. I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, waiting impatiently for the light in front of us to change. When it finally does, I step on the gas, cutting onto the next side street, my eyes sweeping across the dancing shadows, trying to spot even the slightest movement. But just like the last street, there's nothing to find. I let out a frustrated groan, slamming my hand down hard on the dash. And then I'm instantly hissing in pain.

"Shit," I curse as my still injured wrist spasms and starts to throb. I had forgotten about the damn sprained wrist from my encounter with the demons at the gas station. Sam shoots me a look of disapproval but doesn't say anything.

We try the next street. And the next. And then the next.

There's still no sign of Cas anywhere.

Finally, after another hour or so, I turn back towards the bunker, still automatically scanning the sidewalks, though Sam and I both know he's long gone by now. I cut the engine and lean my head back against the soft padding of my car, closing my eyes.

I open them with a start when Sam rests a hand on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry man. We can look again tomorrow. I'm sure Cas is fine. Like you said, we taught him well," he says, trying to mask his own worry. I nod and then close my eyes again.

"I uh...I'll be inside," Sam grunts after another minute, and I feel him open the door and slam it shut behind him. I listen to the telling sounds of his abnormally long stride as he makes his way to the bunker and closes the heavy door behind him.

And then I'm alone.

I sit like that for a long time. Just breathing in and out. I still don't want to believe it. A part of me is still expecting Cas to be sitting at that dining room table when I walk in, talking with Kevin or waiting for another training lesson or digging into another home cooked meal.

I let out a long breath and start to gather myself up, opening the door and sliding out into the chilly night air. _Stupid son of a bitch probably didn't even think to bring a damn jacket._

Sighing again, I open the door and step inside.

The table is empty.

* * *

**Reviews are like Halloween candy- I love them. Even if it's just to tell me what you're being for Halloween (because I need ideas). Wow. Off-topic. Anyways, let me know what you think if you have time. If not, thanks for reading! =)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. Not sure I'm 100% happy with it, but let me know what you think!**

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**Sam's POV**

It's not looking good.

We've been searching for Cas for days now with no luck. Kevin has somehow figured out how to work the huge angel-tracking contraption that sits in one of our many rooms, and although pinpointing the locations of angels _is_ helpful, it won't lead us directly to Cas. Instead, we look for patterns. There are several large groups of angels that have joined together, and we search out the closest ones, wondering if maybe they're hunting down Castiel together.

Right now, we're tracking down a cluster moving through Ozark, Missouri. We figure it's close enough to the bunker to be in Cas's range...if he's still alive. I try not to let myself linger on that possibility. Despite being human, I'm still confident that Cas is a fighter. He always has been. I have to believe he's alive, and I have to believe we'll find him soon. That's just the way it has to work out. Because if it doesn't...

"They're just fucking standing there." Dean's complaint slices through my train of thought, pulling me back to our current position; huddled in the nearby bushes like twelve year olds spying on the neighbors.

Dean's right of course. There's seven of them, all gathered in a loose circle in the middle of some random clearing in some random forest. A slow-moving stream runs just to the left of the angels, spilling out into a pint-sized waterfall and then gathering into a small pool that's barely ankle deep. I shift deeper into my crouched position, freezing when the movement rustles the leaves of the bush we've chosen as our hiding spot. Dean tenses beside me, reaching for the angel blade tucked beneath his jacket. The angels, however, don't even spare a glance at the disturbance.

* * *

"What are we waiting for?" A tall blonde angel snaps. He stands, arms folded, on the outskirts of the group, scanning the trees that surround them. "We know he's close. Now let's find him. I can't wait to tear his traitorous heart from his chest."

"Patience, Remiel," another angel interjects, sweeping tendrils of auburn hair away from her pointed face. "Castiel will be dealt his punishment soon enough. But we cannot afford to be reckless. Demons still walk this earth, and I have no doubt that the hunters are most likely tracking us down as well. Without our wings, we are vulnerable. We must protect each other."

Dean and I glance at one another, trying to process what we've heard. The angels seem much more adjusted to life on Earth than I would've expected, especially when it comes to knowing that hunters like us are looking for them. But the part I'm most focused on is Cas. He's obviously close, and they're obviously on his tail.

Beside me, Dean is growing restless. Ever since he heard Cas's name, he hasn't been able to stop shifting on his feet.

"Dean, chill," I warn, giving him a look. He rolls his eyes but stops moving, and I glance back at the group of six angels. _Wait, six? Weren't there seven before?_

"Hey Dean, where's..."

But I never get to finish my sentence.

I'm sailing through the air before I can even process the sturdy hand grasping the collar of my jacket, and I smash awkwardly into a nearby tree, my head slamming unceremoniously into the trunk. I try to get to my feet, but my eyes are swimming and my head is pounding and I end up falling back against the tree again, blinking hard.

My vision clears a moment later and I almost wish it hadn't.

Remiel is looking down at me, a cruel smile splayed across his surprisingly delicate face. He holds a nearly unconscious Dean in a loose choke hold, laughing at his weak attempts to get free.

"Knew we were being watched. You're the Winchesters right? Can't say I'm surprised you showed up," he grins, tightening his hold on Dean's neck.

"Hey," he calls over his shoulder, "Look who's here."

My heart sinks as the other six angels come into view, each carrying an angel blade and looking absolutely lethal.

"Let him go," I growl, watching helplessly as Dean's breath starts to comes out in shallow gasps.

"I don't believe you're in a position to be making demands," Remiel smirks, but to my relief, he does as I ask. Dean sucks in the much needed air greedily, falling to his knees when the angel releases him completely from his hold.

_You okay?_ I mouth, and Dean nods, grimacing. His expression speaks as clearly as if he were saying the actual words.

_Shit. This is bad Sammy._

I frown back at him. _Yeah, no shit. Plan?_

Our silent communication is cut short by the auburn haired angel who has pushed her way past the others, crouching beside me where I still lean against the tree.

"Sam Winchester? In the flesh? What an honor it is," she mocks, trailing a hand through my hair. I'm only slightly surprised to realize that her fingers are stained red when she pulls them back. "Where's your angel friend, huh? Where's Castiel?"

"No idea what you're talking about," I smirk, only slightly caught off guard by the strength behind the abrupt slap that follows. "Gonna have to do better than that," I say, still smiling up at her.

And suddenly I wonder when I became my brother.

That's usually Dean's line. But Dean's in no position to be saying much of anything at the moment. After my last comment, Remiel has hauled Dean to his feet once more, pressing his angel blade firmly against his throat.

"Alright, we'll make this easy then," Remiel says, stepping forward. "You tell us where Castiel is, or we kill your brother." He digs the blade in deeper to make his point, just enough to open up a thin line of blood across Dean's neck.

_PlanPlanPlan. Come on. Come on. Think! _I chant to myself, searching desperately for a way out of this. My only strategy at this point is to stall.

"Look, I don't know where he is, okay? But we can get in contact with him. We can find out. Please just...please," I beg, widening my eyes, "Don't hurt him."

Apparently my plea sounds convincing enough, because Remiel has that condescending smirk on his face again.

"Yeah alright, make the call," he says. I nod and begin to reach slowly for the phone in my pocket, keeping my other hand up in a show of surrender. I can feel Dean's eyes on me, and I know he's trying to figure out what I'm doing. I meet his gaze with an almost imperceptible shrug and my own "We're still screwed" expression. His aggravated sigh in response to my admission becomes a deep groan when Remiel shifts the blade once more, drawing even more blood.

"Chill out you dickwad, my brother said he'd call Cas," Dean grumbles weakly before I can. I nod instead, bringing the phone to my ear, my eyes still scanning every possible outlet, every possible scenario. I know Dean is doing the same.

Right now the odds aren't good. The five remaining angels who have yet to speak or step forward have all formed a loose circle around the rest of us, effectively taking away our chances at making a run for it.

"Uh, hey Cas," I say when the phone is finally picked up after the fourth ring.

"Huh?" the voice is thick with sleep. "Sam?"

"Yeah Cas, it's Sam. Hey, can you come meet us? We're in Ozark. It's a pretty funky town," I say, "Why don't you come out to our hotel, I can get you the address."

"Sam I'm not Cas, I don't...oh shit," Kevin finally catches on, and I suck in a relieved breath, grateful that Dean thought to teach him our stupid code word.

"Yeah sure, you got a pen?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing while Kevin processes.

"Yeah, yeah I'm ready Sam," Kevin replies, his voice shaking slightly. I hear the rustle of papers through the phone.

"Okay it's 4268 Pontiac Ave. And Cas? Come as quick as you can," I say, hanging up the phone and turning back to the angels.

"He'll meet us at our hotel," I lie. Remiel nods, that smug smile still in place.

"Let's not keep him waiting," he says.

I barely have time to register the butt of the angel blade heading towards my face before everything goes black.

* * *

**Kind of a late update on this one, so I apologize- Life got busy! I try to update at least once a week, but sometimes it just won't happen. GET EXCITED FOR TONIGHT'S EPISODE! And leave a review if you have time of course =)**


	17. Chapter 17

**Sorry, my muse kind of abandoned me for a little while there. This next chapter was supposed to be Cas's POV but of course I came back to Dean because nothing else was really sticking. So here it is, hope you enjoy!**

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**Dean's POV**

We are so fucked.

I know it before I even open my eyes. I can already feel the stiffness in my shoulders and the incessant pounding in my head and the needles that shoot through my mostly numb body.

I know it because I can hear the exact moment Sammy's soft breathing turns into an irritated grunt and then an unnatural scraping of limbs and rope beside me. Eyes still closed, I test the strength of my own ropes, groaning inwardly when I realize there's no give. _Where the hell do angels learn to tie knots? Heaven arts and crafts time?_

Deciding to play dead for just a little longer, I try to get my bearings. I'm obviously sitting in a chair, my arms bound together behind me and my feet tied separately to the two chair legs. Sam is to my left, barely close enough to touch, so there's no way we can reach each other's ropes. _Great, so the usual. _

I open my eyes by a millimeter, looking out from beneath my lashes to try to get an idea of where we are. Doesn't take long to figure it out, and I guess it should be obvious that the angels would take us back to our hotel room. The hotel room Sam willingly gave out over the phone- to Kevin, I'm guessing. I smile a little to myself, remembering how Kevin had rolled his eyes at me when I told him about using "funky town" as a code word. I would say I'm a genius for planting that particular piece of knowledge in Kevin's advanced placement brain, but Kevin knowing that we're in trouble actually doesn't do shit for us. It's not like the kid can take on seven angels, and it's not like we have any other friends left alive who could be of any help.

So yeah, we're fucked.

Might as well get this show on the road then. I open my eyes the rest of the way.

* * *

"Ah, you're awake," the red-headed angel smirks. I'm about to say something along the lines of 'no shit, Sherlock," but instead I have to bite my lip to keep from cracking up. The seven angels take up the majority of our small hotel room, one shuffling restlessly on his feet, the others sitting awkwardly on the two beds while Sam and I are shoved into the corner farthest from the door. A quick look at my little brother reveals that he's got a bloody nose, but seems otherwise unharmed. For now.

I go back to my assessment of the room, noticing Remiel lurking near the door, glaring at us.

"Didn't know angels had slumber parties," I remark, hoping to piss him off. I can practically feel Sam rolling his eyes next to me, but I had to make _some_ kind of comment. It's just so ridiculous seeing these so-called celestial beings sitting together on a floral print duvet surrounded by barf green curtains and a TV that looks like it's from 1986.

"You know Cas is still probably a ways out, you guys could go grab some dinner while you wait. Don't let us keep you. We'll be fine, really," I prompt when my first comment spurs no reaction.

This time, Red stands up from where she had been sitting on my bed, coming to stand right in front of me. She leans in close, her long fingers sliding along the length of my jaw, her voice a whisper in my ear.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you." She says it almost seductively, ruffling my hair before she moves back to look at both of us. "Won't be long now anyway, I suppose we could get started early. I mean obviously Castiel must suffer- it won't be a quick death for him, after all the things he's done. And yours shouldn't be either. You _are_ the Winchesters after all."

Me and Sam share a quick glance, and I can see the fear that hovers just behind his eyes. That fear becomes more pronounced when Red turns back to face us, angel blade in hand and a cruel smile twisting her features.

"Who's first?" she asks, flipping the blade expertly in her hands.

"Oh come on, you angels have lived for thousands of years and you can't wait five minutes for Cas to show up?" I'm trying to stall, the ropes digging into my wrists as I try to twist out of them, but they still won't budge.

Red laughs, short and unamused. "We've waited long enough, believe me," she says. Sam lets out a surprised yell when the blade suddenly slices across his shoulder, blood quickly soaking the front of his shirt.

"Hey!" I protest, pulling more furiously against my ropes. Red ignores me, her full attention on my little brother. I feel the warm stickiness of my own blood dripping from my wrists, but it only makes me struggle harder as the angel blade makes another pristine line of red across Sam's torso. He doesn't make a sound this time, but I can still hear the scream in my head- it's one I've heard far too many times before. A few more well-placed slashes across his skin and I'm past rage, screaming and spitting curses at the angels that still sit, expressionless on our beds. None of them have so much as moved since we first came back to consciousness, nor do they seem to have any interest in the situation unfolding in front of them. They watch with chilling indifference. I turn my attention back to Red, seething.

"I'll kill you, I swear. I will fucking _kill_ you. Getting your hands _off_ him," I hiss.

She finally turns to look at me, eyes flashing. "You just won't wait your turn, huh Dean?" she scolds. And suddenly she spins towards me, bringing the angel blade down into my left thigh, tearing through layers of muscle and twisting it until all I know is a white hot agony.

* * *

I don't know if it's me or Sam who's screaming. I can't focus on anything. My vision swims in and out, even as I try to push past it, try to fight my way back to the surface.

I think I black out for a few seconds, but Sam's voice brings me back. It's definitely him screaming. I think he's saying my name. No wait...it's different now. Louder. God it's so loud. It doesn't sound like my brother anymore. It doesn't sound human.

It sounds almost...demonic.

I force my eyes open, taking in the suddenly drastically different scene in front of me. The first thing I notice is the door...or what _used_ to be the door anyway. It's in splinters on the floor now. And there's a dead angel lying atop the pieces, chest torn open and eyes wide. There's flashes of movement all around me, and I try to focus in on them, but everything is so blurry and unfocused. And then I feel the slice of a knife against my ropes and suddenly my shoulders are screaming, hanging limp and useless at my sides. Two more quick slices at my ankles and then Sam is in my face, shaking me viciously.

"DEAN! DEAN, COME ON!"

I know I need to move. But nothing wants to work and everything is fading in and out like some weird dream and then suddenly I'm out of the chair, the pain in my shoulder moving at least six points up the Richter scale as Sam pulls my arm over his own shoulders, trying to hold my weight. I force my feet to move but my left leg is completely useless so it turns into more of a pathetic, one-legged hop, my eyes trained on the opening that was once the door to our room, left leg dragging behind.

The blast of cold air when we finally make it outside is welcomed, helps me find the extra surge of energy I need to make it to the Impala parked a few meters away. I think Sam is talking to me but his words are coming too fast, too low, and all I can do is collapse into the passenger seat. I feel the rumble of the engine and I hear the squeal of the tires as Sam tears out of the parking lot, and I realize that somehow we've survived.

I want to let go so bad. I want to fade into the painless darkness that beckons to me from just behind my eyelids, but I have to know one thing first.

"S'mmy...you...you...okay?" I manage, focusing hard to catch the next words out of Sam's mouth.

"Y...yeah Dean, I'm okay," he responds. "Just...hold on."

I should notice the absolutely terrified pitch of his voice, the stricken look on his face. I should see the way his hands tremble against the steering wheel. But instead I let myself drop into oblivion.

* * *

**Thanks for staying with me. I think next chapter is Sam's POV. I'll get back to Cas's adventures eventually, I promise! I can't stand having him separated from our boys for too long anyway. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Hope everyone had a safe and happy Halloween! Here's the next chapter, enjoy!**

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**Sam's POV**

It's been hours, and I'm still shaking. Trembling, really. I can't seem to stop.

I know I should be grateful. Ecstatic, even. I mean, for one thing, we're alive. It was a close call, but Dean's gonna pull through. The knife missed his femoral artery by a few inches, and luckily it didn't shatter the bone. Still, there was so much blood...

He's recovering in his room at the moment, been passed out on his bed for the past hour or so. I couldn't risk a hospital, so making the drive back to the bunker was the only option. There were a few times I thought I made the wrong choice though. There were a few times where I almost lost my brother. Four minutes and twenty three seconds of painstaking CPR on the side of the road ensured that I didn't.

Felt like a millennia though.

I'd called Kevin on the way back to make sure all the supplies I'd need would be at the bunker. Kevin fluttered between completely confused and completely relieved throughout our conversation, explaining to me how he'd been tracking down all the hunters he could find, trying to find some way to save us. And he'd lived up to the title of a lifesaver when I'd finally stumbled through the door with an unconscious Dean in my arms.

I'm not sure how much the Men of Letters knew about angels, so the bunker is currently covered in warding, the majority concentrated on the walls of Dean's room. He might be pissed, but as long as he survives, I'll take the hissy fit.

As long as he can walk again, I'll take all the blame for the crappy paint job.

So I need him to wake up. I need him to get back on his feet and start hashing out a plan, because at the moment I'm completely lost. Shaking like a fucking leaf.

Yet another part of me hopes he sleeps all day. Because I know he'll want to know how we got away. I know he'll want to know what our next move is. And I can't think about it, can't explain any of what happened back there in that hotel room. I don't understand it, and what I think I understand makes no sense.

All I remember is a feeling of uncontrollable rage when that damn angel slashed through Dean's leg, and then suddenly the room was exploding around us, lit up with a pure blast of white light and a high pitched ringing that ripped through my eardrums and shook the walls, blew the door clean off. There's no explanation for something like that. At least, none I'm willing to consider. Because the last time I was able to make things happen with only the power of my mind...it didn't end well.

"Sammy?!" The faint shout pulls me from my thoughts and has me sprinting for Dean's room at the end of the hall. It takes me an extra second to find him when I finally get to the doorway, because he's not in bed like I expected. Instead, the idiot is pulling himself across the floor towards the guns that line the far wall of his room, bandaged leg dragging limp and useless behind him. He whips his head around when I come in, instantly relaxing when he sees it's me.

"You scared me," he smiles. And then his eyes roll back in his head and he's lost to the world again.

* * *

"Damn it, are you _trying_ to give me a fucking heart attack?" I ask the moment I've situated Dean back in his bed and his eyes have finally fluttered open again. He frowns at me, groaning and trying to brush away the cool washcloth I'm holding against his forehead. I frown back when I notice how weak the attempt is.

"Seriously Dean, you wake up in the _bunker_ and you assume something's wrong?" I press. I'm not really that angry, mostly just scared. I just need to hear his voice, to make sure he's really with me this time.

"Sorry Sam," he croaks, "can never be too careful."

I sigh and withdraw the washcloth, moving to help him sit up against the pillows and then reaching for the water I left beside his bed. He grimaces but drinks greedily, only pulling back when the glass is empty. And then he's licks his lips and asks the question I'm not ready for.

"How the hell did we get out of there?"

I shrug, focusing on a spot just past his right shoulder, careful to avoid his eyes. I stick to as much of the truth as I can.

"I don't know, Dean. I don't remember much. There was this flash of light and suddenly the angels were just...I don't know...gone? Dead?" I pause, but Dean's waiting patiently for more, so I continue. "I finally cut through my ropes and we were able to get out of there. I can't explain it."

Dean shakes his head, eyebrows scrunched together. "Well you're not making any fucking sense," he says, "you wanna elaborate a little more?"

"Look man, I really have no idea what happened okay? I have no clue how we got out of that one alive." I say, exasperated. Dean narrows his eyes at me, but after a moment he just shrugs.

"Alright, we'll figure all that crap out later. What's the story with all this then?" he asks, motioning to his left leg. "When can I get back on my feet?"

_Oh God please not this question. _

"Man, I don't know that either." I let the words flow, trying not to think about what they mean. "I mean she tore through you pretty good. There's definitely a lot of muscle damage that'll take a long time to heal. I don't know if...I mean I'm not sure how extensive..." I stop, my breath catching.

Dean is quiet beside me, picking absently at the bandages on his leg. Finally, he speaks, his voice soft, unsure. I easily recognize the fear behind his next words.

"Will I be able to...to walk again? Are we talking permanent damage here? Am I...I mean is it..." he shakes his head, looks right at me. "How bad Sammy?"

I want to drop my eyes, but his gaze forces me to hold his, and he finds all he needs to know in my silence. He purses his lips, nods slowly.

"Okay," he says, "okay."

But it's far from okay.

* * *

** Thanks for reading and reviewing!**


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm trying to update at least once a week but life has really gotten in my way so I apologize! Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy!**

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**Dean's POV**

I've been moving my entire life.

Haven't stopped moving since my father placed my baby brother in my arms and told me to run. Run as fast as I could.

And so that's exactly what I did.

And I've been moving ever since. There was always something to protect Sammy from, always something that kept me on my toes, kept me shifting the knife that took up a permanent residence beneath my pillow. Years and years of running.

I got pretty damn good at it too. Thought that maybe if I just kept moving, then maybe nothing would ever catch up to me. Maybe if I never stopped, I'd never have to lose again.

I was definitely wrong about that last part. But still, moving was good. It was what I had, what I knew. It kept me sane.

And now I'm going out of my mind.

* * *

I mean sure, I've been laid up plenty of times before. Hell I've even broken my leg before- had to sit with a cast for a good five and a half weeks before that got old and I sawed through it myself.

But this time is different.

This time it's not just a broken bone that will heal on its own. Sam says the damage went much deeper than that, says that angel bitch tore across a few muscles and severed some nerves while she was at it. Took me a while to coax the details out of him, and that told me all I needed to know about just how bad it is.

So yeah, this time is different. The possibility of never walking again is one I can't fathom. Makes me itch for one of the loaded guns beside my bed. So far it's only been two days, but those days have been endless. Unbearable. I can't take many more like it.

And Sam is quiet.

That moody silence that always pisses me off to no end and also scares the shit out of me. It's the calm that comes right before the storm. It was the calm that came right before Stanford, and that terrifies me, gives me that familiar feeling that writhes around deep in my gut and literally makes me sick.

Sam's silence is broken the first time he finds me bent over the toilet seat.

"I'm gonna find Cas," he says, cutting right across my personal space and handing me a glass of water. I wait for the dry heaves to stop before I take it from him, sipping slowly.

"Not on your own you're not," I say after my voice comes back to me. "Too dangerous. We just have to wait..." I stop, not sure how to continue. Not sure what we're supposed to wait for besides a goddamn miracle. Because without one, I'm not walking.

"Cas can help," Sam insists, replacing the now empty glass of water with a hand towel. I snatch it from his hands, shaking my head.

"Uh Sam? Are you forgetting that Cas is human now? I want him back home as much as you do, but he won't be able to help. And you're not going after him alone. End of story."

"Dean..."

"No Sam," I cut him off. "Besides, I uh...I need you here while I...ya know, recover and stuff." I grimace at the hopelessness that bleeds into my voice and at the obvious manipulation. But Sam can't leave. There's to many threats out there, and they're all gunning for us. I guess that part's nothing new, but the only reason we've survived this long is because we've always been there to have each other's backs.

And I can't protect him right now.

I watch the guilty look that graces Sam's face at my admission, feel him lean into me a little before he gains his feet and nods, starting to help me pull myself up behind him.

"Okay Dean. I'll stay," he says.

And then he takes off.

* * *

I can feel it the moment I open my eyes on the fourth day since our run-in with the angels. There's this deep, unfathomable emptiness in the pit of my stomach, and suddenly I _know_ Sammy's gone.

I scream for him anyway.

I tear the covers off my legs and try to stand, but I can't even make it to the goddamned doorway before the pain in my leg becomes too much and I collapse onto my stomach. _Please don't be gone. Please don't be gone. Not you too. _

I push myself up onto my elbows, crawling slowly, grateful that my door is already open as I push my way past it into the hall.

Kevin finds me when I'm about halfway to the kitchen. I don't realize I'm still saying Sam's name out loud until he grabs my shoulders and pulls me up to my knees. My left leg screams at the strain and I let out a small whimper.

"Dean, what the hell is going on?" Kevin asks, his eyes skittering around the room, looking for any sign of danger.

"Sam," I whisper again. It's all I can say, all I can think_. Gone. He's gonegonegone. _

"Dean? What happened to Sam? Where is he? Talk to me! Please!" Kevin's really panicking now, shaking me just a little too hard.

"He's gone, Kev," I breathe, "he...left."

_Everybody leaves you Dean. You noticed?_

I shudder at the abrupt assailment of that particular memory. It's one I've buried deep.

_Mommy. Daddy. Even Sam. Ever asked yourself why?_

It's said in my mother's voice, though I know it wasn't really her who spoke the words. It was just a projection of her, conjured up by Zachariah when Sam and I were in Heaven- or at least some fucked up version of Heaven.

Kevin's still asking questions, begging for answers, but I'm too wrapped up in my own head, in my deepest fears.

_Maybe it's not them. Maybe it's you. _

"Gotta...gotta find him Kevin. We have to..." I can't form the words right so I stop and take a breath. _Come on, keep it together. _

"Check his GPS," I say on my next breath, the gears in my mind suddenly shifting back to logic, working on overtime. I know this isn't Stanford again. I know Sam's looking for something to _help_ me. To save me from this newest nightmare. And if I wasn't so worried, I'd be grateful. After all, he'd done exactly what I would've.

"Yeah, okay. Okay," Kevin nods and he's on his feet in an instant. I'm thrown off balance by the sudden loss of his support and I flop onto the floor like a damn rag doll, face meeting tile.

"Uh, Kevin?" I call, licking fresh blood from a split lip and rolling onto my back, finally relieving the stress on my left leg. "A little help here please?"

"Oh...oh Dean I'm sorry!" Kevin rushes back to me, trying to pick me up. It takes a monumental effort and a few ridiculous attempts that I'm glad no one else sees, but we finally stumble back to my room, and Kevin lowers me slowly back down onto the bed.

"Hey," I call after him as he rushes from the room to track Sam's phone. He skitters back into the doorway like a cartoon character. "After you track him, you're gonna have to make a run. Stock up on gauze, bandages, some food for the road. And find me some crutches."

Kevin nods, already moving again.

"Kevin," I call after him, "get some pie."

* * *

**Thanks for reading. I always appreciate your comments! **


	20. Chapter 20

**Here's the next chapter! Ta da.**

* * *

**Sam's POV**

I don't want to know what time it is, but I find myself checking my phone every few seconds anyway. GPS turned off of course. Sad to say I'm not an amateur when it comes to disappearing. And the guilt doesn't ease, even though I know it's necessary this time. Even though it's all for Dean...

I don't want to know that my big brother is probably awake by now, that he's realized I'm gone. I don't want to think about anything besides the steady hum of the Impala, the stretch of road beneath me. But focusing on nothing but asphalt is harder than it seems. It leaves a lot of time to think- and that's exactly what I don't want.

Dean's gonna be pissed. And that's the understatement of the year right there. He's going to be _livid_.

I told him I wouldn't leave, and at that point I seriously thought I wouldn't. But after a few more days of seeing that _look_ in his eyes, I just couldn't sit around any longer. I know he needs me at the bunker, but he needs to be back on his feet even more. He needs to be able to _walk_ again. So I'm going to look for Cas. Because if there's one good angel like Cas in this world, then maybe there are more. And maybe Cas knows where the good ones would be. It's what I'm counting on. I just need one fully-powered angel with a conscience. One who's willing to heal my brother.

And if I can't find a willing participant, then I'll find one who doesn't want to die. I'll find one who will be persuaded by the sharp cut of an angel blade.

No matter what it takes, I'll do it.

* * *

It's been three days. Three days away from my brother and I have nothing to show for it except the bags that have taken up a permanent residence underneath my bloodshot eyes. I've been driving practically cross-country, stopping only for the occasional coffee or nap on the side of the road. And still- nothing. Before leaving, I had taken a picture of the bunker's angel tracking board on my phone, hoping it would give me some clue of where to start. I figured following after groups of angels was still my best bet at tracking down Cas, but so far there had been no sign of him- no sign of _any_ angels for that matter.

I can feel myself hitting my breaking point. I'm running on empty, completely exhausted, and no closer to finding anything that could possibly help Dean. The road blurs in and out of focus in front of me as much needed unconsciousness threatens my heavy eyelids, and I know I have to stop again. _Just for a minute_, I tell myself, pulling off at the next exit and finding a nice, vacant lot to park the Impala. She rumbles and then stills beneath me when I twist the keys from the ignition, probably just as grateful for a rest as I am. I sigh, leaning my head back against the familiar cushioned seat, letting my mind wander a little before I drop into unconsciousness.

The trill of my ringtone jerks me from the beginnings of a dream, and I scramble to find it.

_Dean_, the caller ID reads. I grimace, switching the phone back and forth in my hands, debating. _Gotta face my brother at some point..._

"Hey."

"Sammy?" It's barely an audible breath, but that one word oozes with pure relief. Three days worth of worrying all compacted into the soft whisper of my name and suddenly I'm twelve years old again and I've just run away from home and it's the stupidest thing I've ever done. _God Dean I'm sorry. _

"Yeah?" The guilt is gut-wrenching, but I manage to push my horrible excuse for a response past my lips, waiting for the screaming match I'm sure will ensue. Instead, all I hear is a deep exhale, an audible sigh.

"You okay?" Dean asks after a moment.

"Yeah Dean, I'm good," I reply, still waiting for the tidal wave that is my brother's wrath. I try to apologize before it comes crashing down on me. "Look I'm s..."

"It's alright Sam, it's okay," Dean cuts me off. "Look, just...just tell me where you are. We've been looking for you. Me and Kevin. So we should be right behind you man. Indiana right? Outside Dyer? Just give me an address and we'll meet you."

I freeze, turning to stare at the green sign visible from the highway that reads "Schererville, Indiana". As usual, my brother has somehow found his way to me. And suddenly I realize what that means.

"You...you what? Dean, you can't...your leg needs to heal, you can't be scrunched in a goddamn car all day. What the hell?" The anger is sudden, and deep down I know it's misplaced, but regardless, I can't stop the rising swell in my voice.

"Really Sam?" Dean snaps, his own outrage becoming apparent now that the worry has abated. "You wanna get into this with me right now? You really want to talk about why I'm crammed into this shitty excuse for a car right now? We can start with the fact that you fucking _stole_ the car I usually drive. Wanna start there?"

_Shit_. The guilt settles deeper in my gut, embedding itself into the walls of my stomach and writhing like a tethered animal. Despite the obvious anger in Dean's accusation, I know him well enough to hear the undertones of fear and betrayal that lie beneath. I really scared him, but more than that, I had left him. Again.

"I'm sorry," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut. _I had to..._

"Yeah okay, we'll talk about it when we meet up. Where are you?" Dean demands again, suddenly all business. Dean relays my location to Kevin, whom I can hear mumbling incomprehensibly through the phone.

I am distantly aware of Dean's reassurance that they'll be there soon, along with the soft click as the call is disconnected, but my eyes have already drifted closed, pulled down by the sheer weight of exhaustion. I succumb without complaint, knowing my brother is on his way.

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**Thanks for reading- next chapter should be up soon! Have a great day. **


	21. Chapter 21

**I won't bore you with an author's note- just enjoy the latest chapter!**

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**Kevin's POV**

"I'm pretty sure this car is older than my grandmother," I say by way of conversation as I zoom down the highway, a stoic hunter angled uncomfortably into the passenger seat next to me. Dean's in pain, though he's doing a damn good job of hiding it. He's only let a few small winces pass across his otherwise unreadable expression on this three day search for his little brother, choosing to mostly just stare out the window in silence.

It's been awkward, to say the least.

Dean's mouth twitches a little at the comment about the car, but he doesn't say anything. Probably because it was _my_ idea to drive this particular contraption. I'm still not really comfortable with stealing, so Dean compromised impatiently, telling me I had my pick of the parking lot. To his incredulity, I had chosen the crappiest car I could find, telling myself the owner wouldn't miss it. And after driving it around for three days, I was fairly convinced I'd done the guy a favor.

We're currently passing through Indiana on intel from the "angel tracker thingy" (as I lovingly refer to it) and Dean's instinct, following a cluster of angels somewhere close to Dyer. My patience and sanity have both been tested over the past few days of driving, but if I'm having a rough go of it, I know Dean has it worse. I'm obviously worried about Sam, but I've got nothing on Dean. He's hasn't once stopped shifting in his seat, even in sleep- which he hasn't gotten much of. Neither have I but hey, who's complaining?

Dean huffs out a frustrated groan as I get stuck behind yet another car who insists on going exactly 55 miles per hour on the highway. He twists to reach for the cell phone stuffed in his jacket pocket, skipping right to Sam's number. I stopped counting how many times he's called Sam after he reached twenty-eight. And I definitely stopped looking at his expression every time the call went to voicemail. Dean's finger hovers over the call button, and I try not to watch the silent argument I know he's having with himself. Finally, he puts the phone to his ear. I listen anxiously to the faint ringing, even though I know I have no reason to believe this call will be any different than the others.

But it is.

"Sammy?" Dean's relief is palpable, bleeding from his voice like the steady flow of an open wound. I turn my eyes back to the road, embarrassed to have witnessed such a raw, uncensored display of emotion from a guy who barely admits to needing a damn bathroom break. There's a weird knot that forms in my stomach as I listen to Dean's conversation, and it takes me a few extra seconds to identify what it is. Jealousy. Yearning.

To be worried over like that, to be loved so unconditionally, so purely. It's something I haven't had in a long time. Not since my mom...

Even as Dean's voice rises past the point of anger, I can still see the utter relief that pulls at the lines of his face, along with his growing _need_ to get to where his little brother is.

"Kevin. Dude, did you get that?"

"Wha...?" I'm pulled back from my assessment, realizing with chagrin that Dean is staring back at me expectantly. "Huh?"

"I _said_ Sam's in Schererville," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "Exit at St. John, look for Bernie's Diner. Got it?"

"Holy crap Bernie's? Tell him not to eat there, Dean! The one by me closed down a few years ago because everybody kept getting food poisoning. Sam, stay away from the chili!" I yell, leaning towards the phone at Dean's ear.

"Already hung up," Dean snorts, shaking his head and lowering the phone back to his lap.

"Hey, food poisoning is serious, Dean. This one time I got it so bad that I had to miss my fall recital, which was kind of a huge deal back before all this angels and demons crap."

Dean's only response is to raise his eyebrows at me.

"Trust me, it was gross," I mutter sheepishly, realizing just how ridiculous I sound in light of all the other enormous problems on our plate.

"Yeah, yeah, just drive," Dean smiles, "Exit's coming up soon."

The Impala sticks out like a sore thumb in the otherwise vacated Bernie's parking lot, and I nod knowingly at Dean.

"Told you. The whole chain was obviously rat-infested or something," I say, pulling up beside the gleaming Chevy. But Dean's not listening. He's already out of his seatbelt, struggling to get himself in position to open the door without jarring his leg. He practically drags himself out of the passenger side, leaning heavily against the rusted body of the car and hopping frantically, trying to make his way around to the other side.

"Whoa Dean, slow down," I plead, grabbing his crutches from the backseat and holding them out to him. He really shouldn't be walking at all at this point, even _with_ crutches, but right now Dean only has eyes for his brother. He ignores me completely, shoving off of our "rental" and finally making his way to the driver's side of the Impala, banging on the window unceremoniously.

"Sam," he yells, sounding panicked. Confused, I shift my focus, and it's then that I notice the 6'4'' frame slumped lifelessly in the driver's seat.

_Sam. Oh No. Please no. _

My moment of horror is cut short when Sam wrenches forward from his apparent nap, brought back to consciousness by Dean's shouting. He looks lost for half a second, but then he finds his brother's face and immediately relaxes, throwing open the door.

Bad idea on his part.

Dean, who had been leaning heavily on the door, starts to tilt dangerously towards the blacktop. I rush forward, trying to close the distance, but Sam is there first, fisting his hands tight in Dean's jacket and keeping him upright. Dean groans, eyes rolling back in his head as he struggles against the agony that has to be shooting through is abused leg.

"Hey Dean. Whoa, whoa. Easy, man," Sam mutters, taking most of his big brother's weight. I watch as Sam slowly maneuvers Dean, lowering him slowly into the driver's seat of the Impala at an angle, keeping his injured leg carefully outstretched so that it still rests on the pavement. "Dammit Dean," Sam whispers, shaking his head.

I shift my feet, feeling out of place. It's a common side effect of being around the Winchesters, but in all honesty, I'm okay with it. The way Sam and Dean are around each other...it's like nothing I've ever seen. Like they're fused together, two hearts that beat as one- never even a millisecond out of sync. Never one without the other. It's at once beautiful and terrifying.

I can't hear what they're saying to one another- it's not meant for my ears. But after a while, Sam turns to me. "Hey Kevin." His smile is weary but genuine, and I return it without hesitation.

"Hey Sam, glad you're okay," I reply.

"You wanna help me get Dean in the back?"

"Fuck no Sammy, I got shotgun," Dean growls before I can say anything. Sam laughs in disbelief, and I watch as Dean's face automatically softens in response, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. _I wonder if he knows he does that._

"Uh yeah right Dean, like you didn't do enough damage already. You gotta stretch your leg out straight man." Sam shakes his head. Dean just groans again, rolling his eyes, and I take that as my cue, moving to open the back door.

"Alright grumpy," Sam teases, latching onto Dean's arm, "let's get you settled."

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**D'aww brotherly love. Nothing better. Next chapter will be up soon! Let me know your thoughts- I'm open to suggestions because at this point nothing's really planned out, so feel free to leave your ideas in the reviews. Thanks again for sticking with me!**


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